Prophecy: Beyond Good & Evil
by ThoseWereTheDays
Summary: After learning the truth about the Tusken massacre, the Council had no choice but to expel Anakin Skywalker from the Jedi Order. Years later, following the Jedi purge and the demise of the Old Republic, an exiled Skywalker may be the galaxy's last hope...
1. Introduction

**INTRODUCTION/PROLOGUE**

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><p><strong>Author:<strong> ThoseWereTheDays

**Title:** Prophecy: Beyond Good & Evil

**Genre:** Adventure/Romance

**Rating:** T, M

**Synopsis:** After learning the truth about the Tusken massacre on Tatooine, the Council had no choice but to expel Anakin Skywalker from the Jedi Order. Years later, following the Jedi purge and the demise of the Old Republic, an exiled Skywalker may be the galaxy's last hope for salvation…

**A/U Notes: **Everything from Episode II has already occurred. However, Padmé and Anakin did not return to Naboo together, and they were never married. Instead, Padmé returned to her senatorial duties on Coruscant while Anakin was whisked away to help fight the rapidly escalating Clone Wars. They haven't seen each other since the Battle of Geonosis.

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><p><strong>Padmé Naberrie–Amidala:<strong> Following the onset of the Clone Wars, Padmé served as Naboo's standing representative in the Galactic Senate for the remainder of the catastrophic conflict. Growing wary of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's motives during the final days of the doomed Republic, she assisted in the formation and establishment of what would later become the Rebel Alliance.

**Obi–Wan Kenobi:** One of the few known Jedi to have survived the initial devastation of Order 66, Obi–Wan soon after found refuge with political figures loyal to the Jedi Order and the mounting resistance. Now, fighting alongside the Rebellion to bring down Darth Sidious and his treacherous Empire, he is taking part in a last–ditch effort to unite the remaining Jedi and save the galaxy from an impending age of darkness.

**Anakin Skywalker:** Shortly after reaching Knighthood, Anakin's slaughter of the Tusken Raiders was revealed to the Jedi Council. After much deliberation, he was eventually stripped of the rank 'Jedi Knight' and his status as General to the Grand Army of the Republic. He later returned to Tatooine and has not been seen or heard from since.

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><p><strong>TABLE OF CONTENTS<strong>

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><p><em><strong>IntroductionPrologue**_

_**Chapter One**_

1. The Fallen: Part I

2. The Fallen: Part II

3. The Fallen: Part III

_**Chapter Two**_

4. The Legend: Part I

5. The Legend: Part II

_**Chapter Three**_

6. The Reckoning: Part I

7. The Reckoning: Part II

8. The Reckoning: Part III

9. The Reckoning: Part IV

10. The Reckoning: Part V

11. The Reckoning: Part VI

_**Chapter Four**_

12. The Legacy: Part I

13. The Legacy: Part II

14. The Legacy: Part III

_**Epilogue**_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


	2. The Fallen: Part I

**PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD & EVIL**

**The Fallen**

Part I of III

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><p><strong>Dissolution Day +74<strong>

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><p><em><strong>MOS EISLEY, Chalmun's Cantina<strong>_

_**13:00 hours**_

Seventy–four days. It had been seventy–four harrowing days since the fall of the Republic, the unlawful disbandment of its Senate, the betrayal and near annihilation of the Jedi Order, and the criminal rise of Palpatine and his treacherous Empire. Seventy–four long, excruciating days of injustice with no end in sight. They had all trusted their Supreme Chancellor, including one gullible senator from Naboo, and for that they had been stripped of their very freedom.

Padmé silently cursed herself for being so blind. She had been duped just like the others; foolish enough to believe Palpatine's empty vows and promises, and hopeful enough to forgive his occasional failure to deliver on them. She had, however, grown increasingly wary and suspicious of his rulings as Chancellor in the final hours of what was now being referred to as the 'Old Republic'. His questionable conduct had caught not only her attention, but the attention of numerous likeminded politicians who had feared the worst. And tragically, the worst had happened. They hadn't acted soon enough, and as a result of their foot–dragging they had let their people down. Now, branded as traitors and forced into hiding, many of these politicians had joined together to form the Rebel Alliance; one last hope to reclaim what the Empire had so savagely taken, and restore peace to the galaxy once and for all. This time, they would not hesitate. This time, they would thwart the self–appointed Emperor and find their redemption.

"Care for a drink, missy?"

Grimacing, Padmé focused on the present and shot the fetid man standing beside her table an irritated glance before turning away. "Thank you, I'm fine."

"Tell me somethin', darlin'…" the vulgar man persisted, refusing to take no for an answer. "What's a pretty little thing like you doin' all alone in a place like this? It's mighty dangerous territory, you know? Lots'a unsavory characters pass through these parts. But don't you worry none, I can keep you safe."

Stepping forward, the foul, scraggly man closed the distance between himself and Padmé with an arrogant grin plastered on his face. "So, what is it that you can do for me? Hmm?"

The smirk vanished an instant later when he glanced down and noticed the blaster pointed directly at his groin.

"Lay one finger on me and it will be the last thing you ever do," Padmé evenly retorted, the weapon concealed and barely visible beneath the heavy cloak she wore. "As you can see, I am in no need of your protection."

"H–hey, take it easy," the man stammered as he nervously raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No offense meant, lady… just tryin' ta be friendly."

"I have plenty of friends already, thank you," Padmé replied.

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, the nuisance of a man spun on his heels and departed with his tail between his legs. Padmé watched him go before turning back to the prior object of her attention. Several tables away, a hooded customer quietly sat with his back to her; ignoring the unruly patrons raising a ruckus all around him in the packed cantina. They had both been there for nearly three full hours, and Padmé's mind had started to wander as the possibility that their contact wasn't going to show was beginning to seem more and more likely. He was over two and a half hours behind schedule, and there was still no sign of him.

Just as she allowed a disappointed sigh to escape her lips, she spotted a shady figure approaching the hooded customer's table. Leaning forward to hear better, she eavesdropped as they made their introductions.

"…haven't been waiting long," she heard the customer greet their new arrival. "Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

"I hear you're interested in doing business, yes?" the shady figure replied, putting all pleasantries aside as he obliged and sat down. "How may I, uuh… be of assistance?"

"I am a trader looking to expand my clientele with a wide range of new and exciting merchandise," the hooded customer nonchalantly replied. "I'm looking for someone who can help me do this. Have I found him?"

The shady figure carefully studied the man sitting before him with distrusting eyes. For a fleeting moment, Padmé thought he was going to get up and leave, but he instead leaned back in his chair and grunted; his scrutinizing expression changing to one of amusement.

"Perhaps," was his blunt response. "What kind of merchandise are we talking here?"

"Weaponry."

"Weaponry?"

"Yes, weaponry," the customer casually repeated. "Will that be a problem? I've heard you are the best around, and I want nothing but the best for my clients."

"A problem?" the figure cackled, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The words of praise visibly bolstered his confidence; exactly, Padmé assumed, as the hooded man had intended. "There is no problem, my mysterious friend. If it is weapons you desire, weapons you'll get. Of course, there is the matter of payment to discuss first."

"I can assure you that payment will not be a problem," the hooded customer said as he retrieved a small satchel from within the folds of his beige robes and tossed it onto the table in front of him. "I'm sure we can settle on a price."

The shady figure quirked a brow and greedily snatched the bag up from the table's surface. Peering over his shoulder, he checked to make sure he wasn't being watched before furtively inspecting its contents.

"Republic credits? Is this a joke?" he spat in disdain. "Where do you think you are, huh? This is worth nothing in the Outer Rim!"

"I gather you are not entirely satisfied," the customer stated, drolly.

"You might as well offer me a handful of sand, outlander," the figure impatiently answered. "None of this is going to be any good to anyone much longer. Not to you, not to me… not here, or anywhere else. The new Empire will see to that, no? Republic currency is a thing of the past."

Unperturbed by the sudden outburst, the hooded customer merely responded with a subtle wave of the hand. "These credits will do just fine."

"Aah, forget it…" the figure grumbled, reluctantly accepting the satchel. "I guess these'll do just fine. After all, money is money, right? So, these weapons of yours… what exactly are you after, hmm? Top of the line explosives? State of the art blaster rifles? You need it, my friend, I have got it."

"Actually, I am interested in something much more valuable," the customer replied, perfectly calm and relaxed. "Tell me, what do you know of laser swords?"

"Laser swords, you say?" the figure responded, clearly intrigued. "A lightsaber is a rare item, my friend. Especially now that the Jedi are gone."

Padmé felt a pang of sadness at the mere mention of the horrific Jedi purge. The customer, however, didn't so much as flinch at the remark. Instead, he continued to haggle and barter with the arms dealer.

"Again, I can assure you that you will be compensated for your trouble," the hooded customer proceeded without pause. "If you can find me what I want, I will make it well worth your while. So, do we have an agreement?"

"You're getting too far ahead of yourself, my friend," the shady figure retorted with a snort. "There is only one person around here with such an exceptional piece, and I don't think you want to go looking for him."

The customer coolly folded his arms across his chest. "And why is that?"

"He's a dangerous one, he is. Even by Tatooine standards," the figure answered, lowering his voice to a near whisper as not to be overheard by uninvited ears. "They call him the 'Tusken Hunter', and I highly doubt he would be willing to part ways with the item he holds in his possession."

"Leave that to me," the hooded customer said as he pulled out another satchel of credits and plopped it down on the table in front of him. "Now, where can I find this 'Tusken Hunter'?"

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><p><em><strong>MOS EISLEY, Chalmun's Cantina<strong>_

_**14:10 hours**_

Standing outside the cantina in the sweltering heat, Padmé wiped the sweat from her brow while she stood in wait. Apparently, she and her companion had chosen the right place; the local watering hole had been a hotbed for illegal activity. The loathsome dwelling had been a cesspool, bustling with underhanded criminals and scheming opportunists from every stretch of the galaxy. But their time in the detestable place had paid off in the end. After much searching, they had finally picked up on a potential lead.

"That went better than expected, all things considered…"

Once again wiping the sweat from her forehead, Padmé turned around when a familiar voice spoke up behind her. "Do you believe he's a reliable source?"

"It is my opinion that he was telling the truth," the hooded man answered, joining the petite woman who had been awaiting his arrival. "Either way, we must investigate and find out for ourselves. But we will first need to acquire some means of transportation if we are to venture out into the desert."

"Do you have any ideas?" Padmé asked.

"Everything on this planet can be bought or sold for the right amount. But for now, it would be best not to linger," he replied, inconspicuously surveying the area before gesturing for the former senator to lead the way. "Shall we?"

"Yes, of course."

Slipping into the crowd of natives aimlessly meandering to and fro in the busy streets of Mos Eisley, Padmé discreetly lost herself in the sea of moving bodies. Falling into step beside her, the scorching Tatooine sun shining against his slightly graying beard, her companion kept a vigilant, ever–watchful eye open at all times; never letting his guard down, even for the briefest of moments. To the average onlooker, he no doubt appeared carefree and aloof, but Padmé knew better… it was in his nature to constantly look out for signs of trouble or impending danger. Heart and soul, he was still a Jedi. And as a Jedi, he was an exceptional warrior and a highly skilled negotiator; two traits that had already proven an invaluable asset to the current task at hand. The dynamic of their relationship had always been based strictly on professionalism and mutual respect, but since the demise of the Republic and the Jedi Order they had formed a kind of camaraderie. Dare she even presume, a personal friendship. She trusted the Jedi Master with her life, and she could only hope that he felt the same.

It was a strange thing, observing the drastic changes in Obi–Wan Kenobi. He had remained steadfast and devoted to his sense of duty, and carried himself with the same air of refinement and etiquette that had been instilled in him since his early days as a padawan. But with the death of those who had been nearest to him, he had also learned to embrace his humanity in a way that he never had before. He had always lived his life by a strict code that forbade any form of attachment, yet the loss of his Jedi brethren had impacted him deeply and profoundly. Indeed, he had formed a number of attachments over his years spent in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Isolated and alone since the destruction of what had once been his life, he had spent weeks in solitude after the Rebellion had first given him refuge from the grasp of the Empire; telling those around him that he merely needed time to meditate.

However, he had eventually come to Padmé, choosing to trust and confide in her. He had told her of his diminishing connection with the Force and the growing darkness that enshrouded it. He had spoken of the sadness he felt over the betrayal by the clone troopers who had loyally served under his command for three long years of war. But worst of all, he had expressed in great length and detail, the pain of seeing the murdered younglings lying in the Jedi Temple shortly after the purges. The ghastly, nightmarish sight of the slain children, more than anything else, appeared to have brought about the many changes in the troubled Jedi Master.

"Are you feeling all right, Padmé?" he asked from his place beside her, pulling her from her roaming thoughts and bringing her back to reality. "You seem to be somewhat… distracted."

"I'm fine, Obi–Wan," Padmé lied. "But I do think I may know where we can find our transportation."

Obi–Wan furrowed an inquisitive brow. "Really? Well, I am certainly open to suggestions…"

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><p><em><strong>MOS ESPA, Watto's Shop<strong>_

_**17:30 hours**_

Padmé led the way toward the small, modest shop while Obi–Wan cautiously followed in tow. Luckily, the commuter transport that they had caught from Mos Eisley hadn't taken too long to reach their destination. Padmé, for one, had felt a great sense of relief the instant they had put the dreadful spaceport behind them. The short time that she had spent rubbing elbows with its roving cutthroats and wanted felons had been more than enough to last two lifetimes.

But now, as she drew closer to the familiar secondhand shop and past memories began to flood her mind, she found herself grappling with several conflicting emotions. In a way, she almost would have preferred to return to the vile cantina and face its limitless horde of conniving scoundrels over fighting a battle that she knew she couldn't win; for it was a battle against an adversary that wasn't of flesh and blood, but her own inner turmoil. This place evoked an overwhelming nostalgia and melancholy sentimentality in her, but above all else it represented a time of not so distant tragedy, slavery and loss. It was in this very shop that she had first met a kindhearted little boy with dirty–blond hair and shimmering, blue eyes. But it was also in this shop that the boy's life had been forever changed, and possibly even destroyed.

Doing her best to clear her racing thoughts, Padmé stepped through the threshold and was immediately greeted by the shrewd, unscrupulous proprietor of the simple shop.

"Welcome, welcome!" the gruff Toydarian bellowed as he eagerly flapped his wings and hovered across the room in her direction. "What can I do for you? What will it be today, huh?"

"That depends…" Obi–Wan answered, entering unnoticed until he spoke up from his place just inside the doorway and made his presence known.

The craggy–toothed merchant intently studied the Jedi Master for a moment before turning back to Padmé and skeptically looking her up and down. "You have a familiar look about you, eh? If you're here to get your money back, you can forget it! All transactions are final – no refunds!"

"We're not here for money," Padmé stated in a calm, even tone.

"No?" the Toydarian questioned, still not entirely convinced. "Then what do you want?"

"What do you have in terms of transportation?" Obi–Wan asked with a faint smirk of amusement. "We need something inexpensive and low–maintenance, but dependable enough to take us where we need to go and back. Does that sound like anything you might have?"

"You want a lot out of your investment, my friend," the scruffy Toydarian cackled; his initial suspicion somewhat ebbing, but not completely. "I think maybe we can help each other, huh? The name's Watto. And you are?"

"Ben Kenobi," Obi–Wan introduced himself while respectfully inclining his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Watto."

"Yes, well… why don't we go out back and take a look around, eh?" Watto replied as he whirled about in the air and drifted toward the shop's rear exit. "It's your lucky day, methinks. I have just the thing you need!"

Exchanging uncertain glances, Padmé and Obi–Wan tentatively followed suit and vacated the shop. Once outside, they found themselves standing amid a treasure trove of discarded machinery and spare parts. The accumulated wealth of assorted odds and ends was exactly as Padmé had remembered it. Remarkably, not much had changed over the years. Walking through the cluttered junkyard, she could still picture the small, generous boy who had so selflessly elected to risk his own safety and endanger his life in order to help a desperate trio of stranded visitors. She had returned with the boy a decade later, only to learn that his enslaved mother had been sold and freed by another. No longer a slave himself, but a young Jedi padawan, he had soon after discovered her unspeakable fate… and sought retribution.

"Aah, here it is!" Watto boasted, proudly sweeping his arms across the surface of an old, run down landspeeder as if he were putting it up on display. "It doesn't look like much, but it'll do the trick. So, whad'da ya say? Do we have a deal, or not?"

Obi–Wan thoughtfully stroked his chin as he circled and painstakingly inspected the poorly maintained vehicle. "How much?"

"Hmmm…" the Toydarian murmured, tapping a single bluish–gray finger against his knee while he mulled over and weighed his options. At last, he gave his response. "I tell you what, eh? Why don't you give me a number, and I'll tell you if I find it acceptable. And I suggest you make it a nice, round number. This speeder is one of a kind, you know?"

"Yes, we can see that," Obi–Wan wryly commented. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid that we don't have any form of payment other than Republic credits. But if you would be so–"

"You outlanders are all the same!" Watto scoffed, shaking his head in exasperation as he waved a dismissive hand and started back toward his shop. "Find something worth trading, then we can talk. Until then, why don't you go and waste somebody else's time?"

"Wait!" Padmé called out, reaching into her cloak and retrieving a long, silver cylinder. Just as she had anticipated, the metallic object piqued the merchant's interest and halted him midair. "We do have these to bargain with…"

Sliding the cylinder cap open, she dumped a handful of precious stones and sparkling jewels into her outstretched palm; having obtained the hodgepodge of exquisite gems from her native Naboo before embarking on her journey to Tatooine with Obi–Wan. She had learned during her first trip to the desert planet, along with Master Qui–Gon Jinn, that the ways of the Republic held little sway over its locals and their dealings. With this knowledge in mind, she had come fully prepared to encounter the same problems and difficulties as before without having to rely solely on Obi–Wan's Jedi mind tricks. And judging by the captivated expression on the Toydarian's face, her foresight had paid off; much to her relief, for she knew that he himself was immune to such tactics.

"Weeeeell, how 'bout that!" Watto was all but drooling as he zealously flapped his wings and hovered back over to his two customers.

Padmé slightly withdrew her hand once he returned. "I'm sure this will suffice?"

"Eeh…" Watto trailed off, his transfixed gaze never straying from the jewels. "On second thought, maybe we can work something out, huh?"

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><p><em><strong>MOS ESPA, Inland Lodging<strong>_

_**21:00 hours**_

Obi–Wan was the first to enter the rustic sleeping quarters. Realizing that it would be best to turn in for the evening and start fresh at first light, he and Padmé had decided to find shelter for the night instead of departing, as originally planned. After spending several hours searching for a place to temporarily take refuge, they had finally found the only accommodations around. It was little more than a dilapidated, decrepit hovel, but it put a solid roof over their heads; and uninviting as it was, they had no choice in the matter. They could manage with what they had, or they could take their chances and brave the elements. The latter, Obi–Wan knew, would not be the prudent choice. Tatooine was a harsh and unforgiving world.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," he remarked, peering about at the various cracks and breaks in the walls. Everywhere, the clay interior was peeling and crumbling to pieces. "Let us just hope it will still be standing in the morning."

Despite the gravity of their situation, Padmé lightly chuckled. "I imagine we'll be the first to know if it doesn't last the night."

Glancing over at the single bed sitting in the far corner of the hovel, Obi–Wan awkwardly cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be wise for one of us to remain awake and keep a lookout. You should get your rest, I'll take the first watch."

"Do you really think that will be necessary, Obi–Wan?" Padmé asked as she arched a brow. "We both need to get some sleep, and I'm sure you will be able to detect any danger if it should find us."

"Mos Espa can be dangerous enough during the day, Padmé," Obi–Wan replied. "I would hate to see how dangerous it is at night. Besides, I will get all the rest I need from my meditation."

Padmé frowned, knowing that a debate would prove futile. Obi–Wan had obviously made up his mind, and she had discovered long ago that any attempt to influence the decision of a Jedi Master was near impossible. So, instead of arguing, she grudgingly released a submissive sigh and made her way toward the bed. Sitting at the foot of its uncomfortably rigid mattress, she wearily ran her fingers through her tousled chestnut hair; the merciless desert wind having assailed her nonstop throughout the day.

"Obi–Wan?" Padmé spoke up after a short hesitation, not entirely sure if she truly wanted to ask the question that had been gnawing at her ever since they had left Mos Eisley. "Do you think it's him? Do you really think we've found him?"

Obi–Wan contemplated his response for a moment before answering. "Yes, I believe that it is very likely him. Only my old padawan would be so bold as to openly flaunt the weapon of a Jedi and risk provoking the Empire."

"The 'Tusken Hunter'…" Padmé whispered to herself as she recalled what the arms dealer had said at the cantina, and what the ominous title implied.

"Don't worry, we will find him," Obi–Wan reassured his distressed companion, easily sensing her feelings of fear and foreboding. "Anakin is out there somewhere, Padmé."

_**To Be Continued…**_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


	3. The Fallen: Part II

**PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD & EVIL**

**The Fallen**

Part II of III

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><p><strong>Dissolution Day +75<strong>

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><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Jundland Wastes<strong>_

_**09:30 hours**_

Even in the early morning hours, the unrelenting sunlight beat down from the clear, blue sky to beset those who inhabited the barren world that was Tatooine. Already, the sweltering heat of the stark planet had left Padmé parched and drenched from head to toe with sweat. There was no escaping the harsh, inhospitable elements, and she couldn't help but imagine herself back home on Naboo; surrounded by the beautiful lakes and spectacular waterfalls that she had so often taken for granted during the carefree days of her youth. But now, reflecting back on a past that seemed not her own, those days felt almost like a distant dream. She had seen so much war and strife in her relatively short lifetime that the young girl who had once been filled with such peace and tranquility had become a stranger to her. The bliss that she had once known had turned into nothing more than an unattainable aspiration that was just beyond her grasp no matter how hard she tried to seize it, or how badly she wished it.

Forcing the cherished memories of her beloved homeworld out of her mind, Padmé reluctantly shifted her full attention back to the communications console before her while her Jedi companion navigated their way through the desolate desert landscape. Piloting their recently acquired speeder, the always vigilant Obi–Wan Kenobi kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. True to Jedi form, he had selflessly assumed the task of remaining awake to act as lookout during their stay in Mos Espa; allowing the former senator to sleep through the night instead of waking her for her own shift.

Glancing down when the console in front of her chimed and lit up to indicate that a successful connection had been established, Padmé patiently waited until the holographic image of a familiar protocol droid flickered into existence.

"Hello, I am C–3PO, human–cyborg relati–"

"Threepio, it's me," Padmé cut the blue image short. "How is the ship?"

"Oh, Mistress Padmé!" the protocol droid exclaimed in delight. "I am quite happy to report that your ship is just as you left it. Do you know when you and Master Kenobi will be returning?"

Releasing a heavy sigh, Padmé slightly grimaced at the question. "Not yet."

"Please, do hurry back," a fretful C–3PO replied.

"Stay where you are and keep out of sight," Padmé gave her instructions as she punched a button and prepared to end the transmission. "I'll contact you again before we return."

The holographic image of the timid protocol droid shimmered and faded a moment later. Beside the politician turned Rebel leader, Obi–Wan intently studied a holopad displaying the coordinates that they had procured from their sordid contact in Mos Eisley. After several hours of interminable travel, they were now only mere meters away from their destination.

"We're almost there," Obi–Wan announced as they closed in on the coordinates. Peering up at a precarious mountain precipice hanging high over the desert floor, he swiftly redirected their speeder toward the rocky summit. "These are the last known whereabouts of this so–called 'Tusken Hunter'. We will need to move to higher ground if we are to get a better look at the terrain."

"I agree," Padmé concurred as she followed the Jedi Master's gaze.

Once they reached the base of the towering cliff, Padmé and Obi–Wan climbed out of their speeder and started up its rough, uneven surface. Strong gusts of wind thrashed at their cloaks and mercilessly battered them with sand and debris, but they firmly pressed on nonetheless.

Keeping pace with the Jedi Master, Padmé eventually spoke up while they continued to scale the gradual incline of the rocky mountain. "Obi–Wan, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, sensing his companions hesitance through his attuned connection with the Force.

"I have never fully understood the Council's ruling over Anakin," Padmé stated, her curiosity getting the best of her and washing away any lingering doubts. "You were there, Obi–Wan… what happened?"

"Well, I do suppose you have earned the right to hear the truth," Obi–Wan said with a solemn sigh, taking a brief moment to gather his thoughts before proceeding. "Anakin was not only an exceptional Jedi, but one of the finest generals that the Republic had ever known. As my padawan he was like my son, but as a Jedi Knight he became my brother. He had already been dubbed 'The Hero With No Fear' by the time we discovered what had transpired here on Tatooine."

Padmé's voice came out in a near whisper as she recalled that fateful day at the Lars' family homestead. "With his mother, you mean?"

The vivid memory of Anakin gingerly cradling Shmi Skywalker's lifeless body in his arms had been forever engraved in her mind. It was shortly thereafter that he had confessed to her what he had done to his mother's abductors, and she had forgiven him his failings without condition or judgment. He had needed her then, and she had been there to comfort and console him. Unbeknownst to the Jedi, or anyone else for that matter, she had given him what little solace she could, and had since kept the horrific episode a well–guarded secret.

"He was never able to put the loss of his mother behind him," Obi–Wan replied with a deep frown. "The visions of her pain and suffering continued to haunt him long after her death. As his friend and mentor, I should have seen it sooner…"

Padmé furrowed a brow. "What do you mean?"

"It was merely a matter of time before the Council became aware of Anakin's disloyalty to the code," Obi–Wan elaborated. "Even in the throes of war, he could not escape the misdeeds of his past. A Jedi does not know anger or seek revenge, but Anakin, overcome with grief, had given into both his rage and his desire for vengeance. In succumbing to his emotions, he betrayed himself along with his sacred duty to the Jedi Order."

"But his mother had been dead for over a year by the time he was expelled," Padmé pointed out, careful not to divulge too much of her knowledge on the events leading up to the Knight's heartrending expulsion.

"Anakin was always tormented by his inability to save her," Obi–Wan explained, his mood visibly darkening as he spoke. "I did my best to alleviate his burden, but he still blamed himself for not preventing her death. And try as he did, he could not keep his feelings hidden forever. Ultimately, he was brought before the Council and questioned. It was then that he admitted to finding the Tusken village in which his mother had been imprisoned, and the ensuing massacre of its inhabitants. Upon learning of the blood he had shed, I knew that any hopes I had of protecting his place with the Jedi had been lost. Perhaps if I had been less critical and more tolerant in his training…"

"You can't blame yourself, Obi–Wan," Padmé retorted. "Anakin loved you and valued your guidance above all others'."

"It was my failure, not Anakin's, that cost him his knighthood," Obi–Wan countered, sadly thinking back on the days of his old padawans adolescence. "It is the responsibility of a master to teach his apprentice the will of the Force."

"You are far too hard on yourself," Padmé replied in earnest, her words grave and sympathetic as she studied the troubled Jedi. "Your devotion to the Republic and the people you care about speaks for itself, Obi–Wan. You are a good person, as well as a gifted Jedi."

Obi–Wan's only response was a faint smile of gratitude as they reached the crest of the summit; both of them suspending the conversation while they moved to its ridge to get a bird's–eye view of the vast area below. Standing side by side and peering down at the golden desert floor from their new vantage point, it didn't take either of them long to spot a cluster of dark objects lying motionless off in the distance.

"What is that?" Padmé was the first to break the silence.

"I'm not entirely sure," Obi–Wan answered as he stared down at the cluster and thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Would you care to investigate further?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Jundland Wastes<strong>_

_**10:15 hours**_

The blazing heat assaulted him as he deftly steered the surprisingly capable landspeeder through the twists and turns of a long, winding canyon. Maneuvering around the labyrinth of massive boulders and jagged rock formations protruding and jutting out from its narrow walls, Obi–Wan keenly pressed on while the hot Tatooine air scorched his exposed skin and whipped through his auburn hair. Sitting next to him in the passenger seat, Padmé kept her eyes open and alert while they smoothly glided toward the vicinity of the awaiting cluster. Rounding one last bend in the canyon, they approached the end of its cavernous walls and sped back out onto the open desert plane.

"Over there!" Padmé gestured toward the motionless objects once they came into view just over the horizon.

Obi–Wan slowed their speeder as they neared the cluster; discerning upon closer inspection that it was, in fact, a group of slain bodies sprawled out in the blistering sand. Bringing the vehicle to a complete stop, he jumped out of the drivers seat and took a quick glance around before somewhat lowering his guard. Padmé joined him as he stepped closer to one of the corpses and knelt down to better examine it.

"They're sand people," Padmé said aloud, more to herself than to the Jedi Master crouching beside her.

Stooped over the decomposing body of the recently deceased Tusken Raider, Obi–Wan quirked an inquisitive brow. "Yes, and they haven't been dead long. It appears as if they were scouting the area when they were attacked."

"Do you think…" Padmé trailed off, her voice slightly catching in her throat as she considered the most probable scenario, and the gruesome scene played out in her head. "Was it him? It must have been."

"There is no doubt in my mind that this was the work of our 'Tusken Hunter'," Obi–Wan confirmed her suspicions with a curt nod, lightly brushing his fingers across the mortal wound left in the corpse's abdomen. "This raider was killed by a lightsaber."

Padmé wearily rubbed her temple as she turned away from the slaughtered sand people. "There's something I've been asking myself ever since we arrived in Mos Eisley, but I've been afraid to face the answer. Obi–Wan, have you considered the possibility that even if we do find him, he may not want to help us? After all, it has been two years…"

Sighing, Obi–Wan tore his gaze away from the distinct gash running through the Tusken's midsection before rising back to his feet. To be perfectly honest, he himself had shared similar doubts; wondering if bitterness and hatred had replaced his former padawans erstwhile views and loyalties to the Jedi, and everything that he had once stood for. Unfortunately, if he was indeed the culprit they were searching for, his prior vows to the Jedi Order had clearly gone by the wayside. If the 'Tusken Hunter' truly was who they thought he was, he had already committed his life to the purpose of death. To kill in cold blood went against the very ideals and principles on which the Jedi Order had been built and established. To pledge yourself to the Jedi meant that one was required to nobly abide by the code put in place by the founding High Council, and dedicate ones existence to the security and betterment of the galaxy. Killing out of anger, and embracing this anger, led down a dangerous path… a path that would invariably lead to the dark side. In deciding to follow this path, one would be taking a great risk and jeopardizing not only themselves, but everyone around them.

Obi–Wan knew what they could very well find if his old apprentice had been lured and led astray by the dark side of the Force. After two long years of exile, he feared for the future, and for what Anakin Skywalker might have become since his banishment from Coruscant, and the uprooting of his past life as a renowned Jedi Knight.

"I will trust Anakin to do what is right," he said at last, turning his focus back to Padmé. "I always have, and he has never let me down."

Not quite reassured, Padmé followed suit when her companion moved to return to their speeder. "Where are we going?"

"Why, to do some hunting of our own, of course," Obi–Wan replied matter–of–factly, pausing beside the landspeeder before nodding toward numerous sets of scattered boot prints leading away from the grisly site. "It would seem there were survivors. Shall we go and pay them a visit?"

Padmé obliged and climbed into the passenger seat while Obi–Wan prepared to depart. Without delay, they left the dispatched raiders behind and followed the undisturbed trail as it stretched across the desert; not ceasing until it led them into yet another ominous, rocky canyon. Luckily, no sandstorms strong enough to erase or muddle the tracks had come along since the fleeing party had made their mark, but the ground had grown so dense and solid within the canyon walls that the weight of an average humanoid being was not enough to leave any telltale signs of its passing.

"The trail ends here," Obi–Wan spoke up as he once again slowed their speeder.

Temporarily halting their pursuit, he surveyed the forbidding space as his heightened senses suddenly warned him of a looming threat. However, the warning came just a moment too late.

"Get down!"

Leaping up from his seat, he wrapped one arm around Padmé's waist while he used the other to vault out of the vehicle seconds before it erupted in a shower of smoke and flames. Shaken by the unexpected explosion, and the force of impact against the rock–strewn ground, Padmé gasped as the breath was violently knocked out of her. Fighting to fill her lungs with air, she rolled onto her back and instantly spotted several robed figures charging in their direction. Still rattled, she frantically reached for her blaster, but was dismayed to find that her holster was empty; having obviously dropped the pistol somewhere between where she lay and the smoldering remains of their speeder.

"We have to get out of here!" she shouted, scrambling to her feet and hastily turning to Obi–Wan. Her chest tightened when she caught sight of the Jedi Master and realized that the detonation had rendered him unconscious. "Obi–Wan!"

Rushing to his side, Padmé dropped to her knees and began to panic as what she could now distinguish as a band of well–equipped Tusken Raiders rapidly closed in on their position. Painfully aware that she was now the only means of protection that either of them had, she quickly gathered her wits and reached for the hilt of the silver device dangling at Obi–Wan's side before bracing herself for the imminent ambush. The approaching raiders slightly faltered when the azure blade of the lightsaber ignited and sprang to life with a hiss, but much to Padmé's discouragement, their resolve didn't waver for long. Stalking toward her like ravenous predators circling their prey, they howled as they defiantly brandished their weapons and surrounded their vulnerable quarry.

Before she could react, one of the raiders opened fire with its projectile rifle; striking her square in the shoulder and throwing her off balance. Reeling from the sudden pain that shot through her neck and down her arm, she staggered back a few steps before toppling over and hitting the ground hard. Already reaping the spoils of their latest foray, many of the raiders triumphantly rummaged through the speeder to scrap and salvage what they could while several others spread out to cover the perimeter; none of them concerned in the least bit by Padmé as her vision blurred and the world around her went black.

* * *

><p><em><strong>JUNDLAND WASTES, Tusken Encampment<strong>_

_**18:00 hours**_

Gritting her teeth to keep from crying out, Padmé awoke to a sharp, blinding pain in her shoulder. Her throbbing head ached and protested the abrupt movement when she attempted to shift her weight and reposition her sore limbs; an unbearable burning sensation shooting up the side of her neck and causing her to clench her jaw a second time. Favoring her injured arm, she couldn't contain a labored moan as she delicately rolled onto her side and propped herself up on the opposite elbow. Allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, she soon recognized that she was inside an earthen hut of some kind, and had been left clad in nothing more than her now tattered pants and a thin, white undershirt. Her wrists bound together with a rope likely comprised of what limited forms of indigenous vegetation the dry environs offered, her once silky smooth skin had been rubbed raw and left badly bruised. Wincing as the restraints dug deeper into her flesh, she struggled to free herself, but to no avail. She stifled another moan of agony and futilely twisted her wrists for another moment before giving up and turning her attention elsewhere.

Stripped of everything other than his customary beige tunic trousers, Obi–Wan's limp body rested on the ground beside her. The strained rise and fall of his chest with each shallow, broken breath he drew was the only indication that he was still alive; his unmoving frame showing no other hint of life. She had seen a Jedi in such a weakened state only once before, and to witness it again left the same sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. Worst of all, she knew that she was the cause of this particular Jedi's current condition. After facing the perils of war and emerging from countless battles virtually unscathed, he had fallen victim to a pack of primitive savages in an attempt to prevent her from being harmed. Having used his own body as a shield, Obi–Wan had absorbed the brunt of the blast that had torn through their speeder; saving her from the explosion at the expense of his own safety.

Crawling across the cramped hut toward the disabled Jedi Master, Padmé softly nudged his shoulder once she reached him. Not surprisingly, he didn't so much as stir from his place on the ground.

"Hold on, Obi–Wan…" she whispered, the brief physical activity sapping what energy she had and leaving her even more drained than before. "Don't worry, I'll find us a way out of here."

Squinting through the gloom, Padmé searched the floor of the hut until she spotted a rock fragment the size of her palm lying in the far corner. Doing her best not to make a sound as she moved, she quickly made her way toward the small stone and snatched it up. Not wasting any time, she turned it over in her hands and anxiously grated the rope wrapped around her wrists against its edge. However, just as her efforts paid off and the bindings finally began to give way, she whirled around with a start when the shuffle of boots approaching the hut met her ears. Thinking fast, she immediately dropped back to the ground and shut her eyes; feigning unconsciousness while the steps grew louder and louder, and closer in proximity. Her heart pounded as they neared the hut and momentarily paused outside before entering.

Once inside, Padmé could sense the new presence stalking toward her, but she managed to remain still and silent; resisting the urge to open her eyes and steal a glimpse. She didn't need to see the intruder to know who or what it was… even through the thick, heavy fog that clouded her mind, the memory of the sand peoples' attack in the desert had not been lost. She could only thank the stars that these Tusken Raiders had seen fit to keep their two prisoners alive for the time being.

Frozen in place, both out of fear and necessity, she didn't move a muscle until she felt strong, firm fingers snake around her bicep and take hold of her arm. Still clasping the stone between her hands, she sprang into action without warning or hesitation; promptly slamming her fists into the owner of the fingers and leaping to her feet in one fluid motion. Clearly taken by surprise, the startled raider lurched and landed on the ground with a dull thud. Tossing the rock fragment aside and starting for the only visible exit, any hopes Padmé had of escaping were soon dashed as a trio of Tusken sentries appeared in the threshold and blocked her retreat. Running out of options, she made one last desperate attempt to evade her captors. Unfortunately, she had nowhere to go.

Fashioned from bits and pieces of scavenged metal, the lead sentry viciously walloped her in the cheek with the blunt end of its gaffi stick; delivering an incapacitating blow that threw her across the room and against the reinforced wall directly behind her. The last thing she felt before slumping over and passing out was an overwhelming, excruciating pain in her jaw…

_**To Be Concluded…**_

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


	4. The Fallen: Part III

**PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD & EVIL**

**The Fallen**

Part III of III

* * *

><p><strong>Dissolution Day +76<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Uncharted Territory<strong>_

_**04:30 hours**_

The metallic taste of blood filled Padmé's mouth as her eyes fluttered open and she awoke to the sound of loud, heavy footfall. Quickly realizing that she was hanging high above the desert floor, she remained silent and unmoving while she cautiously shifted her gaze to inspect her surroundings without drawing attention to herself. For a brief moment, her vision blurred and tears filled her eyes as a deep, penetrating ache shot through her temple; the sensation so intense that she nearly gasped and fainted before regaining her senses. Giving herself enough time to catch her breath, she did her best to ignore the throbbing in her head and clear her mind. Every muscle in her body screamed and protested the movement when she eventually lifted her chin to get a better look at the large creature carrying her on its back, but she somehow managed to push through the tremendous pain running down her neck; biting her bottom lip to prevent herself from crying out in anguish. Miraculously, she refrained from doing so and kept quiet.

Its long, spiraling horns stretching toward the illuminated sky like ivory tendrils reaching out to pluck the stars, a single domesticated bantha sluggishly clomped along while nearly a dozen armed Tusken Raiders led the way through the seemingly never–ending landscape of Tatooine. Bound and positioned just behind the beast's massive, furred shoulders, Padmé's arms and legs felt numb as they dangled in the air at its sides. Much to her dismay, the restraints wrapped around her abraded wrists had been replaced with fresh rope, and her hands were now bound together even tighter than before. Her chances of escape, she knew, were looking grim, if not impossible.

She understood better than most that surviving captivity with the sand people was an extremely rare and unlikely occurrence. She knew that it was because of the Tusken tribes that most natives didn't venture or stray too far from their own private communities. It was also common knowledge that their kind had no qualms about killing stragglers or outlanders without provocation. Sadly, she had learned that there were things worse than death… much worse. And now, she had experienced the extent of their unconscionable brutality firsthand.

Having previously only witnessed the devastating effects of their murderous nature and the toll that it took on their victims both dead and living, for pain was endured by all involved, she now found herself more than merely an observer standing on the outside looking in. Instead, she found herself being hauled, crippled and helpless, across the vast desert in what she knew could very well be the final hours of her existence. Countless others had already shared similar fates and died, and she was not arrogant enough to believe that her outcome would be any different. The retired queen and former senator wouldn't be the first to lose her life and perish at the hands of the Tusken Raiders, and she would surely not be the last. However, Padmé wasn't quite resigned to meet such a tragic and untimely end just yet. As long as she still had even an ounce of strength left, she would do everything in her power to stay alive and escape the clutches of her savage captors. Until she drew her last breath, she would continue to defy the odds. They may not have been leaning in her favor, but she refused to give up without a fight.

Suddenly, Padmé heard an infuriated bellow and peered over just in time to spot an observant raider as it noticed that she was awake, and immediately pointed her out to its companions. Without warning, she felt herself being viciously and unceremoniously yanked to the ground while their lethargic bantha came to a halt. Landing hard, she clenched her teeth as her still fresh shoulder wound painfully dug into the sand. She didn't have time to react before she was brusquely forced to her feet and a coil of rope, similar to the bindings holding her wrists in place, was looped and tied around her neck like a noose. Once it was securely fastened, they resumed their previous course and pulled her in tow; indifferent to her suffering as they trudged along. The rope rubbed and chafed her throat as she wearily staggered after them. Gradually, the numbness in her limbs began to ebb and the feeling in her extremities slowly returned, but it did little to steady her gait.

Her head bowed and staring straight down at the path directly in front of her, she kept moving while she intently studied her surrounding captors out of the corner of her eye. Frail and exhausted, it wasn't long before she caught sight of a familiar object protruding from beneath the many thick layers of one particular raider's robes. Engraved with symbols and designs typical of most Naboo weaponry, the distinct handle of her blaster was exposed while the opposite end was tucked away safely in its belt as it walked alongside her. Considering what few options she had left, she knew that overpowering her pistol's new owner and retaking it without being thwarted or killed in the process was an inconceivable notion. Unfortunately, she also realized that once the sand people were done leading her through the desert and had reached their destination, she would no doubt be out of time and opportunities. If she didn't act soon…

Stirred from her thoughts, Padmé followed suit and paused when the band of Tusken Raiders came to an abrupt stop. She watched on in stunned silence as they suddenly burst out in a panicked frenzy and began to scatter. She heard the cause of their fright an instant later when the approaching roar of engines met her ears. Chaos unfolded in all directions as the roar grew in volume and intensity, and many of the raiders, completely forgetting their prisoner, dispersed and ran for cover. Out of pure reflex, Padmé ducked down low when a lone, unmanned speeder bike came crashing through the vicinity; plowing into several of the gathered raiders and killing them on impact before noisily skidding across the ground in a blaze of sparks.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Padmé quickly turned to the startled raider still loitering beside her and made her advance. Using her momentum to hurl herself forward, she drove her good shoulder into its ribcage and lunged for her blaster in one fell swoop; the collision successfully knocking it off balance, just as she had hoped. Wrenching the gun away and taking aim, she fired a single shot at its chest before it could fully recover from the unexpected blow. Shifting her focus elsewhere as the raider's knees gave out and buckled, and it crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap, she anxiously glanced about to find the abandoned speeder bike's pilot. Her search was cut short when a barrage of incoming rifle fire was sent flying in her direction and narrowly missed its mark; several shots trailing close on her heels as she sprang into action and dove behind a nearby boulder for protection. She stayed behind the giant mass of rock, tightly gripping her blaster and not budging an inch from her place of hiding, while sporadic fire continued to concentrate on, and assail her position.

Even over the deafening sound of blaster fire whizzing through the air, and the frantic howling of the sand people, she could soon make out the unmistakable hum of a weapon that she had been well acquainted with during her lengthy stint as a representative in the Galactic Senate… the weapon of a Jedi. She could hear its ignited blade hissing in the night as it swiftly seared and cut through metal and flesh alike. Finally, after a long, tense moment, the commotion of projectile rifles gradually lessened until she could discern that only a few of her captors remained within the area. Risking a peek around the corner of the boulder, she spotted a blue flash of light just as it sliced into one of the last raiders and cleaved it in two.

That was when she saw it: nothing more than a vague, indistinguishable shape stealthily moving through the shadows like a faint ghost. Mesmerized by its remarkable speed and agility, she watched on as the black figure skillfully cut down the last of the sand people with expert precision while they desperately charged forth in a vain attempt to fend it off.

In seconds flat, all but one raider had been promptly dispatched. Closing in on the figure from behind, it prepared to strike with its gaffi stick, and Padmé instinctively trained her blaster on it. Ordinarily a crack shot, her entire body trembled due to a combination of physical exertion and an utter lack of nourishment; causing her to slightly waver and miss her target. Luckily, her shot was enough to alert the still distracted figure of its attackers presence. The warning came just in time as it spun around, and the approaching raider was effortlessly decapitated mid–stride. In the blink of an eye, its limp carcass toppled and collapsed at the figure's feet while its severed head was sent tumbling across the sand.

Her adrenaline rush somewhat abating, what remained of Padmé's strength quickly left her. No longer able to hold herself upright, her blaster slipped out of her grasp as she at last surrendered to the overwhelming urge to rest. Panting, she dropped to her knees and fell forward; too fatigued and drained of energy to notice the burning in her hands as the sand scraped away a thin layer of skin and left her palms bloodied and raw. Time seemed to stand still until the sound of something approaching pulled her from her stupor. Lifting her head and gazing up at the source of the noise, she spotted the mysterious figure hastily moving in her direction. Its steps quickened as it drew nearer, but she still couldn't make anything out other than a tall, cloaked silhouette through the darkness. Throwing back its hood and kneeling down once it reached her, what she saw next sent an involuntary shiver down her spine…

Her pulse raced as a pair of familiar blue eyes bore into her own. She knew these eyes; had prayed to the gods that she would one day look into them again, and lose herself in their depths. For three long years, she had dreamt of what she would do if that day ever came. She could never, nor would she ever want to, forget them. They belonged to the only person who had ever owned her heart.

His expression a mixture of pure shock and worry, Anakin Skywalker, former child slave, Jedi Knight and General to the Grand Army of the Republic, crouched down beside her while she struggled to pull herself together and gather her bearings. In stark contrast to his days as a young, inexperienced padawan learner, the distinct braid that had once signified his apprenticeship had been replaced by a mane of shaggy, unkempt dirty–blonde hair that nearly reached his shoulders. No longer dapper and clean–shaven, the lower half of his face was covered in stubble as if he had recently decided to grow a beard, or simply hadn't taken the time to properly groom himself. A deep scar now ran over his right temple and through his brow; whether it had been sustained prior to his expulsion during one of his many perilous wartime escapades, or following his departure from Coruscant, she couldn't be sure. However, despite his altered appearance, rugged and disheveled as it was, she could still see the same Anakin that she had first met in Watto's shop so many years earlier. Lost in past memories and distant reflection, she watched his lips as they moved, but it took her a moment to realize that he was speaking.

"Padmé, can you hear me?" she finally heard him say; his tone growing increasingly urgent, with each word coming out more frantic than the last. "Are you all right? Padmé!"

"Y–yes, I'm fine," she stammered, doing her best to compose herself.

"Are you sure?" he persisted, his tone somewhat softening, but not entirely. "Are you hurt?"

That voice. How she had longed to hear that voice. "No, I… I'm okay."

Clearly not put at ease by her words of reassurance, Anakin quickly pulled off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She instantly felt the warmth of his body as he wrapped the heavy robe about her slender frame, and it shielded her from the bitter chill of the desert night. He shot her an apologetic look when he next slipped the raiders' neck harness up and over her head, and she winced in pain; her throat already irritated by the rope and tender to the touch. Then, tearing a strip of fabric from his plain tunic, he moved closer to get a better look at the oozing wound in her shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked while he carefully inspected the injury.

"Projectile rifles," Padmé strained to choke out her answer, suddenly becoming fully aware of just how dry her mouth had become; having not tasted water since before her capture and imprisonment.

Detecting her discomfort, Anakin frowned and glanced up before returning his attention to dressing her wound. Gingerly tightening the makeshift bandage around her shoulder blade, he retrieved a hip flask from his tunic pocket and removed its lid before holding it out to her. "Here, drink this… you're dehydrated."

Padmé gratefully accepted the small canteen, and without wasting any time, began to gulp down its contents. She felt rejuvenated, at least to a degree, almost as soon as the sweet liquid hit her tongue.

"Feel better?" he asked once she had finished quenching her thirst. She nodded in response, but remained silent as an unusual tingling sensation spread from her chest and made its way down to the tips of her toes. "It's made from the root of a rare desert plant. I know it feels strange at first, but it should help."

"Tha…" Padmé trailed off, clearing her throat when her vocal cords still refused to cooperate. "Thank you, Anakin."

"Padmé, you could have been killed," he retorted unevenly, as if the gravity of the situation was just beginning to sink in. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you," she replied. "We've been searching for weeks."

Anakin furrowed a brow. "We?"

"You've heard? About the new Empire?" Padmé asked after a slight hesitation. When she received a silent nod of confirmation and nothing more, she once again cleared her throat before proceeding with her explanation. Surprising even herself, she sounded bitter and resentful as she spoke. "Everything's gone. Everything the Republic ever stood for… everything I ever stood for. It's gone. He deceived us all, Anakin. All those years in the Senate, all those lies – and we believed him."

"The Chancellor, you mean?" Anakin stated, more than asked.

"He was more than just the Chancellor," Padmé continued. Her mood visibly darkened at the mere mention of the aging politician turned Galactic Emperor. Just saying his name aloud made her skin crawl. "Palpatine is the Sith Lord the Jedi were looking for. He was responsible for the war, for the separatis–"

"What? No, that can't be right," Anakin interrupted in a near whisper, averting his gaze and shaking his head in denial. "That's impossible. I don't know what happened, but the Chancellor is a good man. It was a mistake."

"Anakin, you can't really think that?" Padmé questioned in disbelief.

"The Council would have seen it," he countered, obviously desperate to make sense of the startling accusation. "He fought on my behalf when everyone else turned against me. He tried to convince me to stay on Coruscant after I decided to leave. I confided in him, I would have known…"

"Nobody knew," Padmé sadly replied. "It was hard for me to accept, too, but it's the truth. I'm so sorry, Ani."

Rising back to his feet, Anakin released a labored sigh and slowly turned away. He said nothing for a long moment until, at last, he spoke up and broke the unbearable silence. "It's true, then? They're all dead?"

Padmé faltered. "Not all… but most."

She wanted nothing more than to comfort the broken soul standing before her. He had lost so much, had overcome incredible obstacles and lived through terrible hardships, yet he had somehow endured. But now, with the murder of his mother and the destruction of the Jedi Order, he had nothing left. Every fiber of her being told her to ignore her own distress and go to him; to hold him in her arms and take away his suffering. Just as she had wanted to take away his suffering when she had last seen him on Geonosis, lying aboard a medical frigate shortly after losing his arm to the treacherous Count Dooku. She had wanted to comfort him then, but duty had not allowed it. Instead, she had been whisked away to resume her work within the Senate while he, along with the rest of the Jedi, had been thrust into the escalating war. But in the end, their efforts had done nothing to hinder Sidious' plot to overthrow the government and take control for himself. In the end, both the Republic and the Jedi had been betrayed by their noble leader.

"I'm involved with the Rebellion," she said as Anakin turned back around to face her. "You've heard about it?"

"I've heard rumors," he replied with a nod.

Dashing forward, he swiftly caught Padmé when she attempted to push herself up from the ground and stumbled. She grimaced and stifled a whimper of pain, but quickly recovered her balance and, clutching onto him for support, miraculously managed to keep herself standing upright. Even with the misery of her horrendous ordeal barely behind her, she felt safe with him at her side. If not for their circumstances, she would have no doubt relished the moment.

"Are you all right?" Anakin asked again, his concern evident as she steadied herself.

"Don't worry about me," she said, offering him a weak smile of appreciation. "I'm tired, but it's nothing I can't handle. Besides, we have much bigger problems to deal with."

"Like transportation? I guess I got a little carried away," Anakin remarked as he peered over at his wrecked speeder bike. "Like Obi–Wan always used to say, subtlety has never been my best quality."

"Obi–Wan!" Padmé exclaimed, inwardly cursing herself for being so selfish. She had been so preoccupied with her own trials and tribulations that she had not even considered the fate of the still imprisoned Jedi Master. "Anakin, they still have him!"

"What? Obi–Wan is here?" Anakin questioned, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "He's alive?"

"He was injured while trying to protect me," Padmé said as she took a deep breath to help calm her nerves. "It's my fault. We have to find him before it's too late."

Anakin's expression hardened. Much to her surprise and dismay, Padmé could see that he was weighing his options. However, she didn't give him enough time to debate what course of action to take; confused by his apparent reluctance to save his old mentor, and impatiently pressing him for an answer. "You are going after him? I refuse to believe that you have changed so much that you would allow your closest friend to be tortured and killed."

"Why not?" he retorted, avoiding her probing stare as he slightly withdrew from her grasp. "You haven't seen me in three years, Padmé. You don't know where I've been… what I've done."

"But I do know who you are," was Padmé's blunt response. "And you're not someone who turns his back on those in need."

"Maybe not when I was a Jedi," Anakin said, distantly. "But that's not who I am anymore. I haven't been that person for a long time…"

"What you've done in the past doesn't matter," Padmé firmly replied. "None of that is important. It's what you decide to do now that truly defines you. So, tell me, what is your decision?"

Anakin didn't respond immediately.

"Their trail should be easy enough to follow," he eventually replied. "Can you walk?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Uncharted Territory<strong>_

_**07:00 hours**_

Relying solely on Anakin's skills as a tracker, Padmé followed in tow while he silently retraced the steps of her Tusken captors and their hulking bantha. With any luck, the trail would lead back to their village… and hopefully, to Obi–Wan. She could only imagine what misfortune had befallen the wounded Jedi since her departure from the encampment. She knew that if the sand people had decided to move him, as they had done with her, that his rescue could prove more difficult than she and Anakin had originally anticipated. She also knew that there was no way of telling just how much his condition had deteriorated since the last time she had seen him. She hated to think that she was responsible for Obi–Wan Kenobi's current state, but she couldn't deny the fact that, if he had not tried to shield her from the blast that had torn through their speeder, he could have avoided such a predicament.

"We'll stop here," the sudden sound of Anakin's voice pulled her back to reality.

"Stop? No, we can't," she objected, unwilling to slow her pace. "We have to keep moving."

"You need to sit down," Anakin replied as he gently but firmly took her by the arm. Reluctantly, she halted and turned to him. "We still have a lot of ground to cover. You'll never make it if you don't get some rest…"

Padmé sighed in resignation. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew that he was right. Her hands were already shaking, and her legs had been growing increasingly weaker with each passing second. But she couldn't just abandon Obi–Wan when his life was hanging in the balance. They had to do something. Anything.

"You're right," she grudgingly conceded his point. "You'll have to go on without me."

"You aren't suggesting I just leave you alone out here?" Anakin retorted, clearly opposed to the idea of splitting up. "It's far too dangerous. This is no place for–"

"We have no choice," Padmé interrupted. "We can't waste any more time arguing about this. Obi–Wan's depending on us, Anakin. He needs your help more than I do right now."

Anakin looked away, and for a fleeting moment she thought that her bid to persuade him to continue on his own had failed. She couldn't mask her relief when he took a quick survey of the area, and motioned toward an alcove in a nearby wall of sorrel rock; the recess eroded and hollowed out just enough to conceal a single individual.

"You'll have to stay out of sight until I get back," he said, gesturing for her to lead the way. She readily obliged him, and started toward the alcove. Once they reached it, he tentatively turned and peered down at her. "Are you sure about this, Padmé?"

"You have already done enough for me," she replied. "Please, Anakin… you have to go."

Anakin's gaze shifted and lingered on the surrounding darkness. "If you see anything coming your way, shoot first and ask questions later. There are plenty of things lurking out here other than Tusken Raiders."

With that, he cast one last glance in her direction and vanished in the shadows.

_**End Chapter I**_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


	5. The Legend: Part I

**PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD & EVIL**

**The Legend**

Part I of II

* * *

><p><strong>Dissolution Day +77<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>SUBTERREL SECTOR, Polis Massa<strong>_

_**10:25 hours**_

He wasn't naïve enough to believe that it would ever be the same. The sudden absence of so many life forms, so many fallen Jedi, had left a great void in the Force. What had once shone like a bright beacon of light had dwindled to the point that it had become nothing more than a faint glimmer in an otherwise impenetrable darkness. It was plain to see, or rather to feel, that there was something missing; a kind of unsettling emptiness that could not be replenished. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

Sitting in deep meditation, Kit Fisto silently reached out to touch the Living Force with his mind in yet another attempt to reconnect with what had so often eluded him since the devastation of Order 66, and the rise of the new Empire: some semblance of inner peace and fulfillment. Not surprisingly, his efforts once again proved fruitless. Due in part, as he well knew, to his current apprehension over the bedridden Jedi Knight recuperating from her wounds just down the corridor in the medbay. Like countless others, she had been ambushed by her squad of clone troopers during the purges. Luckily, she had survived the attack… barely. Most, as he was painfully aware, had not been so fortunate. But she had somehow pulled through, along with her young padawan learner. And it was her distraught apprentice that he could feel now; mixed emotions of fear, grief and dread running rampant as she stood vigil at her master's bedside, refusing to leave her alone, if even for a moment. The headstrong girl had been stubborn and rebellious even as a small child, but Kit had always been very fond of her. He knew that with enough time and the proper training, she would one day grow to become an exceptional Jedi Knight. Now, more than ever, he took solace in the fact that she was there for her mentor.

Legs crossed and comfortably tucked beneath his perpendicular frame, Kit remained in a seated position and didn't so much as stir from his place on the floor when the durasteel door leading into his quarters suddenly slid open with a whoosh, and the sound of approaching footsteps slowly made their way into the room. The visit, of course, was to be expected. After all, he had already sensed the stoic Kel Dor's presence upon his return to the small, isolated asteroid that temporarily served as their secret sanctuary.

Quietly drifting across the room as not to disturb his meditation, Master Koon joined his fellow Jedi on the floor and patiently waited for him to conclude his session and acknowledge his arrival; not wishing to interrupt or break his concentration. Kit inwardly frowned when he detected a faint trace of the elder Jedi's disappointment. Evidently, his latest search for stragglers, like most that had preceded it, had failed to turn up any survivors. Releasing a heavy sigh, he finally shifted his attention to the awaiting Jedi Master. The always amiable Plo Koon, watching from behind the antiox mask that was required for him to subsist in oxygen–rich atmospheres, greeted him with a respectful nod.

"Welcome back, master," Kit was the first to speak, inclining his head and returning the gesture. "You are looking well."

"As are you, Master Fisto," Plo Koon responded. "Regrettably, I was unable to locate the Jedi rumored to be hiding in the Veron System. Perhaps your luck here has been better?"

Kit slightly frowned, outwardly this time. "It is much the same as you left it, I'm afraid."

"And Master Secura?" Plo inquired with an arched brow. "Has her condition improved any?"

"The medical droids expect her to make a full recovery," Kit answered as his frown deepened. His mind, once again turning to the injured Twi'lek and her troubled padawan, began to wander.

Aayla had long been one of his closest and dearest friends within the Order. But admittedly, their intimate relationship had also pushed far beyond the boundaries and limits of the Jedi Code on numerous occasions. However, despite their affection for one another, which was mutually shared and had never lessened over the years, they had both ultimately elected to put duty before personal desire. Still, there were times that he had pondered over what could have been…

"Your thoughts betray you," Plo Koon said, abruptly pulling him from his rumination. "They dwell on Master Secura. I sense a great deal of anxiety coming from you, as well as her apprentice."

"That I cannot deny," Kit admitted. "There are so few of us left. With what has happened, we can't afford to lose a single life. Sadly, we could be all that's left of our kind."

Seemingly satisfied with his response, Master Koon pensively stroked his chin before broaching another topic. "And what of Master Kenobi and the good senator? Have they made contact yet?"

"We are still waiting to hear from them, but I have every confidence in their investigative abilities," Kit reassured him. "I suspect that they will make contact soon enough."

"I, too, trust in Senator Amidala and Master Kenobi to accomplish their task on Tatooine," Plo Koon agreed, choosing his next words carefully before proceeding. "Though, there is another matter that I wish to discuss, if you are not too busy?"

"Regarding Skywalker…" Kit deduced, easily picking up on Plo's reluctance to raise the delicate issue of the ex–knight's infamous history. "You are concerned that we are making a mistake by bringing him here?"

"What happened to Skywalker was a terrible tragedy," Master Koon somberly replied. "I only fear that by turning him away, we may have conceivably turned him toward the path of the dark side. If you recall, he took to his expulsion with much anger and resentment. We can only guess as to what course he followed after leaving the Temple."

"You are not usually one to doubt Master Kenobi's judgment," Kit responded as he intently studied his skeptical companion, and took a moment to consider his line of reasoning. "Why did you not express your misgivings when he first recommended we track Skywalker down?"

"You misunderstand me, Master Fisto," Plo stated, quickly dismissing the very notion that he would ever put the other Jedi's wisdom into question. "I am merely suggesting that we take into account the very real possibility that his old pupil could be quite different than he once was… this may be difficult for Master Kenobi to accept. I remain optimistic, but it is likely that he will not find what he is hoping for. It is a matter of faith, not of judgment."

"And what of the prophecy? Do you no longer believe that Skywalker could be the 'Chosen One'?"

Master Koon contemplated his answer before replying. "Whether or not the prophecy will come to pass remains to be seen. But perhaps, Master Fisto, we are getting too far ahead of ourselves. After all, we have not yet heard back from Master Kenobi or Senator Amidala."

"You are right, of course," Kit concurred, appreciating the value of the elder Jedi's logic and insight. "None of us knows what the future holds in store. We do not even know if Skywalker will agree to our proposal."

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Uncharted Territory<strong>_

_**11:00 hours**_

Padmé awoke with a start. Jolting upright, she fought the stiffness in her limbs as she hastily snatched her blaster up from the ground and clambered to her feet. Leaning heavily against the rocky wall directly behind her for support, she quickly scanned the vicinity for any signs of danger; her eyes still bleary, and struggling to adjust to the harsh glare of Tatooine's twin suns. Even through the blinding light, it didn't take her long to spot the source of what had roused her. Keeping the muzzle of her pistol firmly trained on the cloaked silhouette standing before her, its hands raised in a gesture of surrender, she squinted until she could make out a visage beneath the intruder's drawn hood. She gasped and lowered her weapon an instant later when she recognized the unforgettable face staring back at her. Sprinting forward to catch her when she took an unsteady step away from the wall, a pair of strong hands were the only thing that kept her from completely toppling over.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…"

"W–what's going on?" Padmé stammered, attempting to compose herself as she peered into the familiar blue eyes of Anakin Skywalker. Somewhat regaining her balance, she managed to keep herself standing and slightly withdrew from his hold to get a better look at him. "Ani, are you all right?"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine," he reassured her, his expression etched with concern. He loosened his grip when Padmé shifted her weight, but refused to release her until he was certain that she had fully recovered. "It's you I'm worried about. How do you feel?"

"I must have drifted off," she groggily responded.

Allowing herself a moment to wake up and gather her wits, Padmé glanced about at the alcove that had provided her with adequate shelter for the night. Despite her best effort to keep her head up and stay alert while awaiting Anakin's return, she had obviously fallen asleep sometime during the hours following his departure. The weight of her eyelids had been too much to resist. She wasn't quite sure when exactly she had lost her battle and slipped into a restless slumber, but she wasn't the least bit surprised by her inability to remain awake… her recent plight had left her weak and fatigued beyond the point of exhaustion. It was no wonder that her body would require time to properly recuperate from the abuse that had been so savagely inflicted by her nomadic captors.

"Padmé, are you sure you're okay?"

The sound of Anakin's voice immediately snapped her back to the present. The fog had yet to lift from her mind and dissipate entirely, but it only took her a moment to pull herself together and collect her thoughts. "Obi–Wan… did you find him? Where is he?"

"He's safe," Anakin said as he reluctantly lowered his hands and released his hold on her. Visibly relieved to find that she could indeed stand on her own, he let out a weary sigh while the tension in his posture gradually eased. "I didn't want to wake you, but we have to get going. There's a small patch of farmland not too far from here. I know a family that will take us in and help with whatever medical attention we need."

"I don't understand," Padmé replied, furrowing a confused brow and taking another look around. "Where's Obi–Wan? How badly is he hurt?"

"He's survived worse," was Anakin's blunt answer. Realizing that his tone had come across far more callous than he had intended, and clearly regretting it, his features softened the second the words escaped his lips. Grimacing, he averted his gaze and downcast his eyes before speaking again. "We really should hurry. I found us a ride, but the Jawas are a little anxious to move on and get out of the area."

Forgiving Anakin's abrupt and disconcerting change in demeanor, Padmé followed his line of sight after he slightly turned and peered out in the distance. That was when she noticed the stationary sandcrawler that was commonly associated with the native Tatooine traders; a species well–known for swindling buyers, and peddling old equipment such as outdated and faulty droids. Fortunately, in spite of their unscrupulous dealings, and a reputation for misleading potential buyers while conducting business, they were also known for being extremely passive. This meant that they weren't particularly dangerous, and didn't pose much of a threat.

"The Jawas?" Padmé asked, once again raising a brow. "How did you convince them to help us?"

"We have an arrangement… I told them where to find my wrecked speeder bike," Anakin replied, shifting his focus and turning back to her. "I'm letting them keep it. In return, they've agreed to take us as far as we need to go. So long as they stand to gain something or make a profit, they're more than happy to lend their assistance. But now that they've seen the dead raiders, they're getting nervous."

"Should they be?" Padmé questioned.

"We don't have to worry about the sand people anymore," Anakin retorted, his contempt for the Tusken Raiders palpable. "They won't be coming after us. I made sure of it."

The sincerity of his last statement sent a shiver down Padmé's spine. Images of the slaughtered raiders that she and Obi–Wan had discovered while scouring the desert for the notorious 'Tusken Hunter' flooded her mind. She could still see their rotting corpses, and smell the sickening stench of their decaying flesh as they lay cut down and blistered by the merciless desert heat. Someday, perhaps, she would be able to forget the nightmarish scene, but it would not be this day. For now, it would continue to linger and haunt her thoughts.

"You look pale," Anakin stated as he took an instinctive step toward her. "You still have a lot of healing to do, Padmé. You need to sit down and get some more rest. Can you make it to the transport?"

"I think so," she replied.

It only took them a moment to reach the sandcrawler. Padmé, thinking better of divulging the true cause behind her flustered appearance, remained silent while several jittery Jawas scurried out of the massive vehicle and surrounded them. She could feel Anakin's eyes on her, watching her every move as she made her way up the transport's lowered boarding ramp, to make sure that she was stable enough on her feet to do so herself. The Jawas chattered excitably as she entered its hull, and cautiously scrutinized the interior of the storage bay until she spotted the motionless form of a human man lying in the far corner. Resting amid an accumulation of various droids, both operational and disassembled, and a diverse array of mechanical devices, an unconscious Obi–Wan Kenobi lay sprawled out on a collapsible cot.

"Obi–Wan!"

Ignoring the dull aching in her muscles, Padmé rushed to the wounded Jedi Master's side. Clad only in his ragged tunic trousers, and looking much the same as he did when she had last seen him, his ashen face was coated with a thin layer of perspiration. Everywhere, sand and dried blood mixed with sweat; most of his exposed skin covered in so much grime that it left his complexion nearly a full shade darker. Each labored breath he took, she quickly noted, was accompanied by a shallow, broken wheeze.

"He never gave up on you…" she absently murmured. "You do realize that?"

Puzzled, she glanced over her shoulder when she received no response. Standing in the transport's threshold like an inert statue, Anakin stared out at the barren landscape while the Jawas promptly vanished from sight and prepared to depart; leaving their new passengers to themselves.

"Anakin?"

"You still haven't told me why you're here," he retorted at last, deliberately changing the subject without meeting her gaze.

"Ever since the purges, we've been combing the galaxy for refugees," Padmé exhaled after a brief hesitation. "The Alliance and the remaining Jedi are banding together to dethrone Sidious and overthrow his Empire, but we can't do it alone."

"And what does any of this have to do with me?" Anakin questioned, still not turning to face her as he spoke. "I'm not part of your Rebellion, or a Jedi."

"But you are still Anakin Skywalker," Padmé replied, tentatively moving away from Obi–Wan's side to join him in the threshold. Still, he didn't look in her direction. "You've spent most of your life protecting the Republic and its people. You care for others, Ani… you always have and you always will. That is something that will never change, even if you'd like it to."

It wasn't until she reached out to touch his hand that he finally turned to meet her imploring stare. "I know who you are… even if you've forgotten."

Glancing down at the many rips and tears in the glove that concealed the lower half of his right arm, and noticing the silver glint of his prosthetic limb as it reflected just beneath the surface of the tattered material, he self–consciously began to pull away. He paused, however, when Padmé firmly held his hand in her own and closed the distance that separated them. She found it strange and oddly unnerving, to see him so withdrawn; as if the passion and intensity that had once driven him had been lost, and his time away from the Jedi had left him a mere shadow of his former self. It would take a lie to say that he hadn't changed since last she had seen him. As much as it pained her to admit it, she couldn't deny that the actions of the person standing before her were quite different than those of the person she remembered… the person she had never stopped caring for. The Anakin that she had known would never have given Obi–Wan's rescue a second thought. In the past, he would have jumped at the opportunity to save his old mentor. In the past, he had always worn his heart on his sleeve for all to see. But now, it seemed that he was determined to keep her at arm's–length. The space that now stood between them hurt, almost as much as it confused her.

Soon, the rumble of the sandcrawler's engines filled the storage bay, and noisily reverberated off its durasteel walls. The metallic groan of gears scraping and grinding together sounded before the transport eventually shuddered, and a few seconds later, began to move; the Jawas' assortment of droids and machinery clanking against its keel as its boarding ramp retracted, and it slowly but surely embarked on its journey.

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Remote Moisture Farm<strong>_

_**01:40 hours**_

Padmé was left to her thoughts as the remainder of their trip was spent in silence, with only the loud drone of the sandcrawler trudging along to fill the void. She divided her time, which seemed to drag on for an eternity, between watching over Obi–Wan and gazing out at the rough desert terrain from her place beside Anakin; the latter not budging an inch from the bay's entrance for the better part of their lengthy voyage. His face was hard and unreadable, but Padmé didn't get the feeling that he was necessarily avoiding her. Rather, he appeared to be captivated by something just over the horizon that only he could see. He looked so fragile, then. She could sense his vulnerability, not through his vacant expression, but by the wistful gleam in his eyes and the way he carried himself. The inner demons that had so utterly consumed and tortured him during the days of his youth were one thing that had obviously not changed.

Eventually, after what must have been a little more than an hour, the transport slowed and came to a screeching halt. It wasn't long before a group of jabbering Jawas emerged from the fore of the vehicle, and Anakin finally moved away from the threshold to join her at Obi–Wan's side.

"This is it…" he said, sparing his former master a sideways glance for the first time since the start of their travels. He then turned his attention to Padmé. "I'll have to carry him, but he should be all right. Are you ready?"

Her only response was a concerned nod. Wincing, she stepped aside while he lifted Obi–Wan out of his cot and gingerly hoisted his limp body over his shoulder; careful not to jar him too much in the process. Together, they made their way toward the sandcrawler's boarding ramp as it extended and touched down. Once again, they were greeted by the sweltering desert air the instant they stepped out of the transport. A powerful gust of wind thrashed at their hair and clothing, and stung the tiny, rough cracks that had long ago formed on Padmé's chapped lips. Not wishing to show weakness or worry Anakin any more than she already had, she pushed through the burning in her joints and resolutely pressed on. Luckily, she wouldn't have to walk far…

Just ahead of them, their destination stood out like a beacon against an endless sea of golden sand that stretched for miles upon miles in every direction. Dozens of weathered vaporators dotted the property, while a central plaza dominated a deep pit just below the earth's surface and housed a modest dwelling typical of most moisture farmers; the structure offering easy access to its living quarters, a few chambers and what Padmé assumed to be some type of storage facility. As they neared the pit, she was once again reminded of the Lars' homestead and everything that had transpired during her last visit to Tatooine. In many ways, the circumstances felt eerily similar. Only now, instead of Anakin cradling his murdered mother in his arms, he carried the closest thing that he had ever had to a father. It was the cruelest kind of irony.

"We're almost there," he spoke up as they approached a gradual set of stairs chiseled out of russet stone. Glancing back at Padmé one last time, he reluctantly started down the first step and led the way toward the nearest ingress. Once they reached the bottom of the pit, he stopped and slid the door to the living quarters aside with a sweep of the hand before calling out to announce their arrival. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Could they be gone?" Padmé wondered aloud.

"They do have relatives in Anchorhead and Mos Entha," Anakin replied, signaling for her to follow suit after curiously peeking inside and entering the building. "But they would never risk leaving their farm untended, or their doors unlocked. This land is all they have…"

Padmé watched on as Anakin slid Obi–Wan off his shoulder, and gently placed him on a burgundy divan located in the middle of the room. The injured Jedi's condition, at least to her, already seemed to be improving; some of the color having returned to his face, and his breathing growing more steady and even with each passing minute. Satisfied that he was now as comfortable as he could possibly be, given their situation, she shifted her attention elsewhere.

"Where do you think–"

Suddenly, before she could finish her sentence, Anakin's lightsaber burst to life and he protectively leapt in front of her. At first, she was too startled to realize what was happening. Then she saw it: what she identified to be an assassin droid, armed with a blaster and poised to strike, lurking in the shadows. Just as it prepared to advance, a female voice filled the room.

"Stop!"

Much to Padmé's relief, the droid abruptly froze and holstered its weapon. Confused, she followed Anakin's gaze when he exhaled and deactivated his lightsaber a moment later. Returning the hilt to his utility belt, he scarcely had time to react before the owner of the new voice flung herself forward, and threw her arms around his neck.

"Anakin?" she exclaimed, clearly overjoyed to see him. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting any company! What are you doing here?"

"We need your help," Anakin answered, clumsily returning the hug before breaking their embrace. Padmé scolded herself for the sudden twinge of jealously that stirred in her as she watched this strangers open display of affection. The involuntary response was absurd, she knew; she was being utterly ridiculous and irrational, and immediately quelled the thought. She was not that petty.

The girl's elation was soon replaced by a mixture of horror and shock when Anakin indicated the divan, and she spotted Obi–Wan lying on the unadorned piece of furniture. "Where is your father? I'm sure he has medical supplies."

"Y–yes, of course," she stammered as she turned to Padmé and noticed her bloodied shoulder. "But he's gone… in Anchorhead with my uncle."

"You can still help us," Anakin replied. "Do you have bandages?"

The girl nodded. "Wait here, I'll get our emergency kit…"

Without delay, she left Anakin and Padmé to themselves while she hastily rushed away to fetch the supplies.

"I should take a look at your shoulder," Anakin said once she had gone. Happy to oblige him and take a seat, Padmé tiredly sank into an armchair while he knelt down beside her to examine her still tender wound. "How is it?"

"Sore," Padmé admitted with a sigh. "But not as bad as it was yesterday."

"That's a good sign," he replied. "Most likely, that means it's not infected."

Delicately removing the strip of fabric that he had torn from his tunic and used to wrap the injury, Anakin peeled the saturated material of her thin undershirt back and lightly brushed his fingertips across her exposed skin. She slightly trembled under his soothing touch, but if he picked up on the movement he hid it well. That was, until he reached up and absently ran his fingers through a stray lock of chestnut hair that had loosely fallen over her collarbone. Her pain momentarily forgotten, she met his gaze when he suddenly stopped himself and looked up at her.

"Padmé, I…" he started, but quickly trailed off and averted his gaze.

"What is it, Ani?" she softly urged him to continue.

However, before another word could be said, the girl returned with a small, hand–held first aid case. Grateful for the interruption, Anakin turned to her when she approached. "Will this work? We have sterilizers and a set of bacta patches."

Padmé's eyes never left him as he silently rose to his feet.

"Yes…" she said at last. "Thank you."

_**To Be Concluded…**_

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><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


	6. The Legend: Part II

_A/N: Thank you to all who have left reviews! They're always rewarding and much appreciated. __~ThoseWereTheDays_

* * *

><p><strong>PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD &amp; EVIL<strong>

**The Legend**

Part II of II

**Dissolution Day +78**

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Remote Moisture Farm<strong>_

_**05:30 hours**_

Sleep had never come easy for Padmé. As far back as she could remember, she had struggled with random bouts of insomnia. Long before she had ever carried the heavy burden of serving her term as Queen of Naboo, or become a high–profile official in the Galactic Senate, something about the night had always had a strange affect on her. Perhaps it was the silence that caused her thoughts to wander as they did, or maybe it was the darkness itself. She could still remember being a little girl; lying awake in bed while she replayed the events of the afternoon over and over in her head. Even now, as her bruised and battered body demanded she rest, her mind refused to comply. Sadly, instead of basking in fond memories of friends and family as she had so often done throughout her childhood, the only thing that she could currently think about was how much everything had fallen apart since Palpatine had seized control and almost single–handedly toppled the Republic. And then there was Anakin… no matter where her thoughts had led her during the course of the night, they had inevitably returned to him.

Releasing a weary sigh, Padmé splashed her face with cold water and stared into the mirror hanging over her 'fresher sink. Studying her reflection as she reached for a towel, not only could she see how frail and haggard she looked, but just how much damage had actually been inflicted on her by the sand people. Luckily, she had only been their prisoner for a short time. Unfortunately, during that brief period, she had sustained numerous injuries as a result of their ill–treatment. She had seen the full extent of their abuse earlier in the evening when she had first retired to her temporary boudoir, and undressed to take a much needed shower.

As she had proceeded to strip off her dirtied clothing, her freshly bandaged shoulder had stung so badly from her undershirt tugging at the edges of the recently applied bacta patch, that she had torn the garment apart in order to remove it without causing any additional irritation; the friction of the lightweight material alone having aggravated the wound enough to bring tears to her eyes. Discarding its shredded remnants, she had immediately noticed the various cuts and abrasions that covered most of her slender frame. Now, as she once again inspected herself in the mirror, she tilted her head up to get a better look at the scab that had already started to form on her chin where the skin had been scraped away. It would likely leave a scar, but that fact didn't bother her. She was alive when she could have just as easily been dead, and a mere blemish was a small price to pay. She knew that the scars that she would forever carry on the surface weren't nearly as bad as those she would undoubtedly carry inside. In her experience, they rarely were.

Once she had finished in the 'fresher, Padmé switched the light off and made her way toward the door. If she couldn't sleep, she would find something else to occupy her time. Having already planned to check in on Obi–Wan first thing in the morning, she quietly slipped out of her room and started down the hallway to find the bedridden Jedi Master. With any luck, she would find that his condition had improved… she could picture him sitting there; patiently awaiting her arrival with that stoic expression that she had grown so accustomed to over the years, as if nothing had happened. She realized, of course, that she could hope and imagine all she wanted, but it wouldn't change anything. His recovery wouldn't happen overnight. Jedi or not, he was still human. Not even Obi–Wan Kenobi could heal that fast.

Doing her best not to make any noise, she glanced about and took in her new surroundings as she continued to drift down the hallway. The dwelling was simple, yet it possessed the charm and warmth needed to make a home feel like a home. Somehow, the decor reminded her of the Naberries' lake retreat back on Naboo. Both she and her sister had always loved to visit Varykino with their parents. And even though Tatooine was as far from the shimmering waters and sprawling meadows of her beloved planet as one could possibly get, this place seemed almost… familiar. In an odd way, it brought her some degree of comfort.

As she neared the guest quarters located just down the hall from her own boudoir, Padmé was pulled from her reverie when the faint ringing of dishes clanking together suddenly met her ears and grabbed her attention. Pausing to listen, she heard a soft, feminine voice speaking, but was unable to make out any words. She lingered there a few seconds longer, until the voice eventually fell silent and the distant sound of dishes being handled resumed. She heard a loud crash, and the unmistakable shattering of glass an instant later.

Without thinking, she made a mad dash to investigate the commotion. The reaction was purely instinctual, and she wasn't exactly sure what she would do once she did reach the source of the disturbance, but she pressed on nonetheless.

Quickly rounding the corner, she soon found herself standing in the middle of what appeared to be a moderately sized kitchenette. Bracing herself for whatever trouble she had blindly waltzed into, it didn't take her long to spot two figures, one human and one mechanical, kneeling over the broken shards of an earthenware bowl. Padmé recognized the human girl the moment she lifted her gaze from the mess on the floor to look up at her, and she saw her youthful face.

"Oh… good morning," the girl greeted her with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, did we wake you?"

Padmé regarded the assassin droid crouching beside her with uncertainty before responding. "N–no, I just thought I heard something."

Seeming to detect the other woman's reluctance to lower her guard while still in the presence of her robotic companion, the girl rose to her feet and brushed off the front of her white tunic before turning and dismissing the droid with a subtle nod of appreciation.

"I'll take care of this, thank you," she said, awkwardly clearing her throat. "That will be all for now."

Using a dustpan and broom, the droid swept up what it had already gathered into a pile and obediently spun on its heels. Not moving from her place in the room, Padmé intently watched as it vacated the kitchenette. It wasn't until the girl spoke up once more that she shifted her focus back to her.

"I've just brewed a pot of spiced tea if you'd like some…" she offered at last; her tone polite and courteous as she attempted to ease the tension in the air. "If I didn't have a cup to get me started each morning, I don't think I'd be able to last the day."

"Tea would be wonderful," Padmé replied after a slight hesitation.

Retrieving a boiling kettle from the kitchenette's stovetop, the girl filled two mugs before moving to take a seat at an austere, handcrafted dining table. "I hope it's not too strong for your liking. Please, sit."

Padmé followed suit and joined the girl when she sat down. Gratefully accepting one of the steaming mugs, she finally allowed herself to take a breath and relax while she sank into the wooden chair directly across from her kindly host, and took a sip of the hot beverage. The flavor was unusual but sweet, and she found the drink itself to be quite refreshing.

"Believe me, he does mean well," the girl stated, peering down at the shattered bowl fragments still strewn about the floor at their feet. "Having someone around to lend assistance can be very helpful, but I'm afraid he can be a bit of a klutz at times."

"I must admit, I am somewhat surprised to see an assassin droid in a place like this," Padmé replied, discerning her meaning as she, too, glanced over at the smashed dish. "How exactly did he come to be here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"My father," the girl answered. "After what happened to my uncle, he feared for our safety and went to the Jawas in search of something that could provide us with the protection we needed. So, he bought the most dangerous droid they had and repurposed it to help look after the farm while he's away. To be completely honest, I was against the idea in the beginning, but I've come to enjoy the company."

"Are you here by yourself often?" Padmé inquired.

"My father has to venture to town regularly during harvest season," the girl replied, lightly blowing on her own mug of tea before taking a sip and continuing. "This property is our livelihood. We can't both leave, so I usually stay behind to watch over it. The truth is, I've spent more time on my own than one probably should."

Padmé returned the girl's smile when she chuckled, but it faded a moment later. "Forgive me if I'm prying, but you mentioned your uncle…"

"Yes, he's been having difficulties ever since he was hurt. My father worries about him," the girl said with a deep, solemn frown. "That's how we met Anakin, actually."

Padmé quirked a brow. "I don't understand."

"My uncle was meeting my father in Tosche Station less than a year ago when a gang of Weequay thieves attacked his speeder," she explained, her mood visibly darkening. "He tried to defend himself, but there were too many to fight off and he was overwhelmed. He was permanently crippled, but thankfully, Anakin witnessed the whole encounter and intervened before they could injure him any worse than they already had. I hate to think what would have happened if he hadn't shown up when he did… what else they would have done."

"That's terrible," was the best response Padmé could muster. "I'm so sorry, I didn't–"

"It's okay, really," the fair–haired girl reassured her before taking another sip of her frothy drink. "So, how do you know Anakin? I didn't think he had any friends around here – I've never heard him speak of anybody."

"We met in Mos Espa when he was just a boy," Padmé answered, losing herself deep in thought as she remembered that fateful day, and how ignorant she had been to the enormous impact it would wind up having on her life. But for all the pain and misery that had resulted from her chance meeting with a local merchant's slave so many years earlier, she would never trade the memory. "We've known each other a very long time…"

The girl, noticing the faraway look in the former senator's eyes, decided it best not to prod any further and instead changed the subject.

"You know, it has just occurred to me that I'm being very rude. This is the second time we've spoken, and we still haven't been properly introduced. My name is Tarah."

"It seems that I have forgotten my manners, as well," Padmé replied, realizing that they had indeed met twice and carried on an entire conversation without even exchanging names. "It's nice to meet you, Tarah. I'm Padmé."

"Well, Padmé, I was going to prepare something to eat after I finished with the dishes," the girl said, turning her attention to the stack of clean plates that she had been putting away when her droid had accidentally dropped a bowl. "You must be famished. You skipped supper last night and went straight to bed."

"I am a little hungry," Padmé lied. Frankly, she was starving; her appetite growing more ravenous and harder to ignore with each passing minute.

"I'm not the greatest cook, but I do my best," the girl chuckled as she scooted her chair back from the table and rose to her feet. "Would you like some more tea?"

"Thank you, I still have some left," Padmé replied. "I don't know how we will ever be able to repay you for your generosity…"

Reaching for an overhead cupboard, the girl laughed. "Just don't be too hard on me if I burn the food, and we'll call it even."

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Remote Moisture Farm<strong>_

_**07:00 hours**_

Anakin Skywalker had always loved to build things. Whether it was assembling droids out of spare parts, repairing podracers, or simply tinkering with whatever bit of new technology he could scrounge up at any given time, he clearly enjoyed using his own two hands. Keeping this in mind, it came as no surprise to Padmé when she found him alone and surrounded by tools in the ramshackle garage; lying flat on his back while he modified the repulsorlift engine of an old, sand–beaten swoop bike. Muttering what she could only assume was a curse in the Huttese language, she watched as he extended his gloved hand, and one of the many hydrospanners scattered about the ground slid into his awaiting palm. Stopping in the doorway, she paused to better compose herself before entering the building. She inhaled and attempted to calm her nerves as she made her way inside, but to no avail. She didn't know what to expect… he was so different now, had changed so much. To say the least, their reunion had not unfolded the way she had envisioned it. She wasn't even sure if he was glad to see her again.

"Keepuna!"

Tossing the wrench aside in frustration, Anakin soon emerged from under the swoop bike and picked himself up from the ground. So engrossed in his work, it wasn't until he retrieved a nearby rag and began to wipe the grime from his fingers that he noticed Padmé's arrival.

"Padmé?" he spoke up, a hint of surprise in his voice as his irritation toward the defunct vehicle quickly melted away. "I, uuh… I didn't hear you come in."

"Am I interrupting?" Padmé asked, tentatively. "I can come back later if–"

"No, you're not interrupting," he cut her short. "I was just finishing up in here. Did you need something?"

Padmé frowned. It was plain to see that he had been burning the wick at both ends. He would no doubt deny it if she were to confront him, but hiding it was another matter altogether. His long, shaggy hair disheveled and unkempt, and his face still unshaven, dark rings had started to form below his eyes as the result of an apparent lack of rest.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" she wondered aloud. Her tone was gentle and devoid of accusation, her words laced with concern. "You look tired, Ani."

"I've been too busy fixing this," Anakin replied, shrugging off her observation as he turned to indicate the swoop bike. Having been extensively refitted to meet the many needs of manual farm labor, the utilitarian vehicle was in decent shape, but had obviously not been touched in quite some time. "Trying to fix it, anyway. I'm not positive, but I think I finally have all the kinks worked out."

Moving around to the side of the swoop, Anakin dropped his cleaning rag and tightly gripped its handlebars. "Here goes nothing…"

Padmé couldn't contain a smile when the vehicle noisily sputtered and roared to life, and a triumphant grin spread across his lips. The sight warmed her heart. At that very moment, she saw Anakin, the real Anakin, for the first time… for two days he had seemed almost like a stranger to her. But now, as his face lit up and she saw that familiar lopsided grin, she could see the same childlike innocence and enthusiasm that had always been a part of him. It was as if the relatively simple task of refurbishing a broken down swoop bike had been enough to spark something within him, and rekindle what she was beginning to fear had been lost forever. In turn, her own faith was rekindled, and she felt a newfound sense of hopeful optimism while she watched him swell with pride over his accomplishment. Somewhere, deep beneath his guarded exterior and buried away, Anakin was still in there.

"Your resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me," Padmé said once he had shut the engine off, and she could be heard.

"This thing has definitely seen better days, but it should do the trick," he replied, his contentment vanishing as he sobered and his grin wilted. "Luckily, I won't have to cover much distance."

Dispirited, Padmé's own smile soon followed; his happiness fleeting and passing far too fast for her liking. "What do you mean? You're leaving?"

"We'll need something more dependable than this to cross the desert and get back to your ship," Anakin remarked, once again gesturing toward the bike. "I have a landspeeder, but I'll have to travel west to get it. If I leave now, the trip shouldn't take longer than a couple of hours. You can stay here and–"

"I'll go with you," Padmé said, not waiting for him to finish his sentence. "I'm sure you could use an extra set of hands. You will have two speeders to bring back, after all…"

Anakin opened his mouth, as if ready to protest, but refrained from voicing his objection when she shot him a look of unwavering resolve and determination that brooked no argument. If he insisted on pushing her away, she would just have to push back. He was not alone. Not everyone had forsaken him. No matter what it took, she would make him realize that.

"Are you ready?" she questioned, somewhat rhetorically.

Padmé knew that she had successfully made her point when the onetime Jedi Knight sighed in resignation.

* * *

><p><em><strong>DUNE SEA, Western Quadrant<strong>_

_**10:25 hours**_

If left to the extreme temperatures of Tatooine and its vast wastelands, an average humanoid life form could dehydrate in under forty–five minutes. It had taken less than twenty for the relentless desert heat to leave Padmé parched and thoroughly soaked with sweat; the fine fabric of her clothing becoming sticky and wet with perspiration, and clinging to her skin like some sort of natural adhesive.

Her arms securely wrapped around his waist, she tightened her hold on Anakin while he expertly navigated their way through a desolate, stretching mesa, and buried her face in the back of his cloak to shield her eyes from the unremitting wind as it whipped through her hair, and pelted her drenched body with hot grains of sand. Fortunately, just as their journey drew near the end of its second hour, she felt their momentum begin to slow and lifted her head to peek around his broad shoulder. Directly ahead of them, a vague shape suddenly appeared over the horizon and crept into view. Squinting, she could make out enough to identify it as a secluded, manmade structure; standing in stark contrast against the golden sheen of the flat desert terrain. As they made their approach and their borrowed swoop bike finally came to a halt, she could see that it was, in fact, a solitary makeshift hut. Next to the crudely constructed shelter stood an enclosed hovel that she suspected housed the landspeeder for which they had traveled so far.

Switching their swoop off, Anakin dismounted the vehicle first and offered his hand to her. Appreciating the gesture, Padmé accepted his help and climbed down beside him; making a small misstep and stumbling in the process. Anakin blanched, but said nothing as she cringed and quickly regained her balance. She could detect his concern, but chose not to comment on it… her wounds were healing and, little by little, her strength was returning to her, but she still had a ways to go before she would be back to normal.

"This is where you've been living?" she asked, hoping to divert focus from herself while taking in the sight of the isolated abode.

"It doesn't look like much, but it's sufficient," Anakin replied.

That was when an excited whistle caught their attention and, before she knew it, Padmé found that she was smiling. She recognized the high–pitched warble before she even saw the blue and silver astromech droid roll through the threshold; for it was a sound that she had once known very well, and, for a time, had even heard on a daily basis. Several years had come and gone, but she had yet to forget it.

"Artoo, is that you?"

Making his way out of the hut, R2–D2 greeted the pair with a series of rapid bleeps while cheerfully rocking back and forth.

Padmé chuckled. "It's good to see you, too."

"I'll get the speeder ready. Artoo, go inside and show Padmé where to find the water," Anakin spoke up, glancing down at the ecstatic astromech droid before turning back to her. "You should drink something. I won't be long…"

Padmé hesitated, but only for a moment. Following in tow as R2–D2 merrily obliged, she entered the tiny hut while Anakin started toward its adjoining hovel. Taking in the sight of the cramped shelter, it wasn't difficult to tell that a minimal amount of time and effort had been spent on its construction. Its roof was solid and the walls, which had been molded out of a burnt umber clay, were thick and sturdy, but had been carelessly hewn and otherwise neglected. Instead of a suitable bed, there was nothing more than a heap of threadbare blankets; and other than a rickety stool it contained no furniture. There were no chairs or tables, no cabinets. No windows to illuminate the dimly lit space, and only a single, poorly maintained conservator unit for food storage. Everywhere, an accumulation of datapads, holovids and loose articles of clothing littered the sandy floor. To say that the living conditions weren't ideal would have been a tremendous understatement.

Moving through the clutter, Padmé abruptly froze and raised a brow when she spotted one holopad in particular lying at her feet. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she knelt down and picked the device up to study the description printed on its outer casing. Wiping a thin film of dust from the text, she stood and brought the device closer to her face to read the writing. Just as she had thought, inscribed on its surface was the name of a certain senator from Naboo. Slightly taken aback, she spared a furtive glance over her shoulder before her curiosity once again got the best of her, and she activating the recording. The audio was missing, but a translucent blue image materialized and flickered into existence an instant later. Clearly, the footage was of her addressing the Galactic Senate sometime before the fall of the Republic. Most likely, one of her countless impassioned speeches meant to dissuade her fellow delegates from escalating the war, or possibly a desperate plea to vote down an increase in clone production. Maybe even an appeal to resume peace talks with separatist leaders; those who were willing to listen and compromise, but never got the chance. So many attempts to put an end to the needless violence and destruction… so many failures.

Snapping back to reality, Padmé looked over at R2–D2 when he rolled forward with a cup of water and whistled. Peering down at the holopad one last time, she thumbed the power button off and watched the silent image dissipate before returning it to its place on the ground, and reaching out to take the liquid. She felt a strange sensation as the implications of the recording began to settle in her mind. She wasn't sure how exactly Anakin had acquired the video, but it made no difference. It was an encouraging thought that, judging by the content on the holopad, he had at least kept her in his thoughts, if not his heart.

Yes, since his expulsion from the Jedi Order, he had been leading the life of a hermit and living in reclusion on the fringe of civilization; something that very much went against his nature, but was evidently the path he had chosen. And yes, he had done nothing but avoid her when in the past he would have professed his love and taken her in his arms. He was not as he once had been… he had changed. But she had changed, as well. Anakin had always been impulsive and reliant on his personal attachments, just as she had always detested violence. Now, he had cut himself off from society and those closest to him, and she carried a blaster. He was a Jedi Knight turned 'Tusken Hunter', she was a senator turned Rebel fighter. Yes, things had changed. However, something that had remained constant, and she knew would never diminish, were her feelings for him. Much to her dismay, she had yet to determine if he still felt the same.

Sighing, Padmé took a sip of water. "Thank you, Artoo."

* * *

><p><em><strong>TATOOINE, Remote Moisture Farm<strong>_

_**14:10 hours**_

Leaning heavily against an elevated archway overlooking the farmstead's basic living chambers, Obi–Wan Kenobi stood with his back to the deep pit and gazed out at a trio of rather uncoordinated maintenance droids while they huddled around their master, and watched her work. The young woman who had introduced herself as Tarah had been busy fiddling with a nearby moisture vaporator for quite some time now. Shortly after he had regained consciousness, and she had persuaded him to eat something, the girl had started out to examine the malfunctioning piece of equipment. With the aid of her bumbling droids, she had been toiling away ever since. Obi–Wan had offered her his services, of course; as preposterous as the notion had been. In his weakened state, he could barely stand on his own two feet. But to her credit, she had been very tactful and affable when she had declined his help, and insisted that he get his rest.

In many ways, she reminded him of Padmé. She was tall and willowy, whereas Padmé, too, was slim, but much more petite. Also, as a result of having been regularly exposed to Tatooine's twin suns, the young moisture farmer's skin was far darker. However, it was not in the flesh that the Jedi Master saw their similarities… they differed in age, but both women carried themselves with the same quiet grace and refined sophistication, and genuinely cared for the welfare of those around them. They shared many traits that were not only laudable, but seemed to be in short supply of late.

Grimacing, Obi–Wan absently stroked his bearded chin and shifted his weight. If not for the support of the reinforced archway on which he was leaning and the herbal tea that he had already consumed, he knew that, in all likelihood, he probably would have found himself unable to remain upright. Having been presented with a choice between blue milk or tea upon awakening from his transitory coma, he had opted to try the latter. The beverage had not been as bitter as caf, but had given him the boost of energy he required. To his delight, it had left him feeling invigorated and revitalized, if only temporarily. That was not to say that he wasn't still reaping the benefits of the peculiar drink. Compared to the initial pain and stiffness in his joints, he now felt only a mild discomfort. In that regard, he had made a significant improvement. Sadly, the same could not be said about his fatigue, or the dizzy spells that continued to plague him.

"You shouldn't worry…"

Obi–Wan glanced up when he heard a voice, and the approaching shuffle of footsteps. He wasn't aware of just how long he had been standing there, too preoccupied to notice the girl's arrival, until she joined him and cast a sympathetic smile in his direction.

"Pardon me?" came his eventual response.

"Anakin knows this desert well," Tarah clarified. "She will be safe as long as she's with him."

"I am sure you're right," Obi–Wan replied, matching her smile and nodding as understanding slowly washed over him.

She knew nothing of his relationship with his old padawan; only that he had arrived in Mos Eisley with Padmé, and they had soon after been ambushed and taken captive by a vicious band of Tusken Raiders. Apparently, she was under the impression that he had merely been tagging along with the good senator when disaster had struck. Unbeknownst to her, he knew Anakin Skywalker quite intimately.

"She's very beautiful," she proceeded; becoming visibly embarrassed when her statement garnered a puzzled look from the Jedi Master. "Padmé, I mean… I can see why Anakin likes her so much. I've noticed the way he stares at her when he thinks nobody is watching."

"Yes, well…" Obi–Wan trailed off as he returned his gaze to the damaged vaporator and the three droids still gathered around it. He felt the sudden urge to steer the conversation elsewhere and discuss a topic that didn't involve Padmé or his ousted apprentice. Theirs was a relationship that he had no desire to explore. "I trust you were able to solve the problem with your equipment?"

"Oh, they're just picking up out there," Tarah answered, taking the hint as she turned to follow his gaze. "We had to tweak a few things and make a minor adjustment to its refrigeration conduit, but nothing too serious. As soon as my father and I can afford a replacement, we won't have to go through this routine anymore. But now that that's done, I was heading inside to take a break if you'd care to accompany me?"

"Thank you for the invitation, but I believe I'll stay here awhile longer," Obi–Wan politely replied. "I could use the fresh air."

The girl smiled again. "You know where I'll be if you need anything."

Obi–Wan did the same as she moved through the archway and descended the russet steps leading down into the pit. Left to himself, the wearied Jedi Master spent close to an hour lost in idle contemplation before he at last spotted a landspeeder swiftly making its way toward him. Narrowing his eyes, he could make out a hooded figure trailing not far behind on a swoop bike.

The time had come…

_**End Chapter II**_

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


	7. The Reckoning: Part I

**PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD & EVIL**

**The Reckoning**

Part I of VI

* * *

><p><strong>Dissolution Day +79<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>SUBTERREL SECTOR, Polis Massa<strong>_

_**14:45 hours**_

The briefing had been lengthy and fraught with tension. Not that the venerable Jedi Master had expected any less when the military leadership of the Rebel Alliance had requested he join them and be present while they convened to discuss the Empire, and their campaign to bring it down. From his own past experiences, the Kel Dor had come to learn long ago that internal strife and infighting went hand in hand with the world of politics… and admittedly, he had never been particularly fond of that world. By nature, politics invariably led to conflict and discord. He had seen it time and time again over his many years, and it seemed that, much to his disappointment, even the top–ranking members of the Rebellion were not above throwing stones. He had witnessed yet another shining example of this when tempers had flared during the meeting which concerned a recent blow delivered to the fledgling organization by Imperial spies, and a heated debate had erupted between the assembled Republic loyalists.

As usual, the Jedi Master had refrained from speaking unless spoken to, and had, for the most part, kept his own personal views and opinions to himself. Such had been the case when he had sat on the Jedi Council prior to the great purge, and such was the case now. More often than not, he would simply observe and give his input only when those around him sought his advice, or asked for his perspective on a specific issue. And while the Rebel commandants had, in this case, asked him to participate and share his thoughts, his words had fallen on deaf ears amid the incessant bickering, and his involvement had made no impact. In more ways than one, their lack of patience and unwillingness to compromise had been reminiscent of the inner workings of the Galactic Senate before its collapse. In the end, they had quarreled over their devastating defeat and little to nothing had been resolved.

Stepping out of the Rebellion's designated conference chambers, the faint sound of several raised voices still audible but gradually fading in the distance, Plo Koon put the unpleasant ordeal behind him and thoughtfully stroked his chin while he lost himself in deep contemplation. If only Master Kenobi and Senator Amidala had returned from their assignment on Tatooine. Somehow, the indomitable politician from Naboo had always possessed the remarkable ability to mollify even the most belligerent of her peers. While others would argue and dispute, the young senator had proven herself the voice of reason on countless occasions. And if ever her extraordinary talent to unite feuding sides had been needed, it was with the group he had just left. He couldn't help but wonder how differently the session might have gone had she been there…

Making his way down the winding corridors toward the medicenter, Master Koon folded his hands beneath his dark robes and, with the assistance of the Force, cleared his mind. It would do him no good to dwell on the past, or fret over things that he could not change. Instead, as was the way of the Jedi, he would concentrate on the here and now, and put his quandary aside until he could meditate and better determine what course to take.

Once he reached the infirmary, Plo quietly drifted inside and immediately started toward the only occupied bed in the facility. He sidestepped a busied medical droid when it hovered in his direction, and very nearly collided with him.

So absorbed in the datapad clutched in its metallic appendage, the droid didn't even notice the Jedi's arrival until he cleared his throat to make his presence known. "You must be more careful, my industrious friend."

"Oh, my most sincere apologies," the droid replied before returning its full attention to the electronic pad, and continuing on its way.

Plo said nothing more as he turned back to the patient lying in the bed just ahead of him. Half expecting to find Master Fisto standing at her bedside, he approached the sleeping Twi'lek and stared down at her for a moment before shifting his focus to her padawan. Having obviously dozed off unintentionally sometime during the late morning hours, Aayla Secura's apprentice sat in a chair beside her master; knees tucked close to her chest and head lolled to one side while she slept. Moving around to the edge of the bed, he stooped forward and pulled her blanket up over her sienna shoulders when she trembled due to the biting chill of the medicenter's artificial air. She stirred, but didn't wake as he straightened and took a step back.

Watching her, he could still recall his mission to the small world of Shili so many years earlier… she had been so tiny then, no more than an infant. She had been hungry and alone, lost and confused as her planet was engulfed and ravaged by civil war. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Since that time, Ahsoka Tano had grown both in body and mind. She was no longer that frightened child, but had blossomed into an exceptionally gifted young woman. If not for her impatience and a tendency to defy authority, he felt that, considering how far she had come in her training and given the level of her skills, she would likely have already been knighted. When thinking about her, the Kel Dor couldn't help but be reminded of his old friend and fellow Jedi, Qui–Gon Jinn, and his frequent clashes with the High Council. While the other Jedi had been deeply respected by the likes of Master Yoda and himself, it had been his unorthodox beliefs and his own stubbornness that had kept him from taking a seat on the Council himself.

But also, he could still see some of the Togruta's former mentor in her. Her inability to control her emotions, the unmistakable undercurrent of anger that threatened to boil to the surface and disturbed him so, her penchant for using brute strength over reason; these were all traits that had belonged to one Anakin Skywalker. She had not been his student for long, but it was plain to see that their bond had never been entirely severed. In spite of the profound connection that she now shared with Master Secura, remnants of Skywalker's teachings still remained.

"Master Plo?"

Turning back to the bed, the Jedi Master smiled beneath his antiox mask when he saw a set of tired, leaden eyes regarding him with curiosity. Having spent several days healing in a bacta tank, the worst of Aayla Secura's injuries had mended, but she was still weak and undernourished, and her body still recuperating from the trauma it had endured.

"I am glad to see you are doing well," he greeted the wounded Twi'lek with a reverent nod. "The medical droids tell us that you have made much progress in your recovery. How do you feel?"

Her curiosity abating as she slowly came to her senses, Aayla began to lift her head until the elder Jedi moved forward and gingerly rested a palm on her shoulder; preventing her from sitting up.

"There is no need for that," he assured her. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What's going on?" she asked, wincing in pain and submitting without resistance. "Is something wrong?"

"You need not concern yourself," he replied as she sank back into her pillow. "I only came to see how you were doing…"

"I will survive," Aayla said, releasing a labored sigh.

"And for that, we are all thankful," came the Jedi Master's earnest response.

Aayla offered a weak smile of gratitude, but it quickly faded. "How is my padawan?"

Plo followed her gaze when she looked to Ahsoka's sleeping form. "She has not left your side since you arrived."

"Yes, so I have heard," Aayla pensively replied; her voice strained and barely above a whisper. "She has been a good apprentice, and I am very proud of her. But I must admit that I sometimes worry for her."

"Might I inquire as to what exactly you worry about?" Plo wondered, once again clasping his hands beneath his cloak.

"She does not adjust to change well. Her reaction to everything that has happened…" Aayla trailed off, blinking and allowing another sigh to escape her lips. "More than anything else, she struggles with her attachments. I fear that when the time comes, she may not be able to let go."

"We all must learn to deal with our attachments in our own way," Plo stated, doing his best to provide what little comfort he could. "This is perhaps the most difficult aspect of being a Jedi, and a challenge that is never easy to overcome. It is a constant struggle for all of us, but one that is necessary. You must have faith that, in time, Ahsoka will find her way."

Staring at the stark white ceiling directly above her, Aayla took a moment to digest the magnanimous Kel Dor's advice.

"I do," she said, at last.

Their conversation was interrupted a few seconds later when Plo's comlink suddenly chimed. Retrieving the device from its notch on his belt, he glanced over at Ahsoka to make sure that the shrill noise hadn't roused her before turning back to her master.

"I suppose I should be taking this," he said while inclining his head. "Do you require any attention from the droids?"

"I will be fine," Aayla replied. "Thank you, Master Plo."

* * *

><p><em><strong>MOS EISLEY, Outskirts<strong>_

_**18:10 hours**_

Not a word had been uttered since the trio had bid Tarah farewell, and set out to find Padmé's star skiff. Hidden just beyond Mos Eisley's borders, it didn't take them long to reach the ship, and the fretful protocol droid awaiting their arrival. Riding beside R2–D2 in the backseat of their landspeeder, Padmé had been looking between the two Jedi sitting directly in front of her with a mixture of confusion and trepidation; neither of them having exchanged so much as a glance for the whole of their journey. She wasn't entirely sure what had been said after she and Anakin had returned from their trip to the Dune Sea, and she had left them to speak in private, but she had surmised that there had been a confrontation easily enough. It seemed almost childish the way they refused to look each other in the eye, or even acknowledge that the other existed. If not for the very real and serious rift that now separated Obi–Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, she might have laughed at the absurdity of their behavior.

Padmé pulled herself from her thoughts when their speeder slowed to a halt, and the blue and silver astromech seated to her left whistled in excitement. Anakin was the first to climb out of the vehicle; followed by a still rather stiff Obi–Wan, and finally Padmé herself. C–3PO could hardly contain his joy as they made their way toward him.

"Oh, Mistress Padmé! Master Kenobi!" the protocol droid eagerly greeted them. "Welcome back! I trust your visit was productive?"

"Threepio?" Anakin spoke next.

"Bless my circuits, the Maker!" C–3PO exclaimed in delight. "Master Ani, it is so good to see you again!"

"You've had some upgrades," Anakin replied, giving him an appraising once–over. "I almost didn't recognize you with the gold plating. Very distinguished."

"Why, thank you, Master Ani…" Padmé could have sworn she saw the protocol droid blush before a chirping R2–D2 rolled up behind them, and caught his attention. "And little Artoo, is that you? My, it has been far too long."

"We should be going," Obi–Wan cut in, peering up at the sky while the cloak he had been lent billowed in the air. "A sandstorm is expected."

"He's right," Anakin agreed, quietly. Indeed, the wind had been growing steadily stronger and more violent since they had departed. "Artoo, go with Threepio and ready the ship. It's going to get ugly out here."

C–3PO was more than happy to oblige. "Well, I certainly will be glad to leave this dreadful planet."

R2–D2's reply was tinged with sadness, but he followed his golden counterpart up the yacht's boarding ramp without protest. Padmé didn't quite understand his reluctance until Obi–Wan turned to his old apprentice, and they finally locked eyes. Anakin's own gaze smoldered with an intensity that she knew all too well, while Obi–Wan's expression remained, for the most part, impassive. Padmé wasn't blind. They had discussed something, knew something, that she didn't…

"May the Force be with you, Anakin."

There was a brief, fleeting flicker of emotion in Obi–Wan before he, too, turned and retreated into the ship. Padmé could only stand and watch in stunned silence as Anakin averted his gaze, and said nothing in return. Realization slowly sinking in, it took her a moment to find her voice.

"You are coming?" she eventually managed to choke out, barely above a whisper. She drew closer when she received no response. "Anakin? You're coming with us, aren't you?"

"For the first time in my life, I don't have a master. This is where I belong," he replied after a short pause, his tone distant and disconnected. "I've already tried to be the hero. I never should have…"

Padmé's pleading stare fell on him as he trailed off. "Ani, please… don't do this. Don't keep punishing yourself. None of us are infallible. We all have our faults, we all make mistakes."

"And some are forgiven, while others aren't," he retorted.

Taken aback by the bitterness of his statement, Padmé faltered before speaking again. "There are some things we can't change. You have to let go of the past. Your mother would not have wished you to waste your life dwelling on–"

"My mother is gone," Anakin snapped. His expression immediately softened when he felt the pain his response had inflicted, and saw the hurt look on her imploring face. Releasing a weary breath, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and turned away. "I'm sorry, Padmé, but my place is here. If I had learned that a long time ago, I could have saved us all a lot of trouble."

"You don't mean that," Padmé shot back. "You can't. Anakin, how can you even say that? Obi–Wan is your friend. And I…"

The words died on her lips, but not before stopping the exiled Jedi where he stood. He didn't move for a long moment. It wasn't until she took a step forward, and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder that he finally turned back to her. She didn't even realize what she was doing; unaware of her own body and its actions as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a tight, desperate embrace. Uncertain at first, Anakin's resolve quickly faded and he readily reciprocated. Like music to her ears, Padmé could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart as she leaned forward and rested her head against his chest.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, but must have only been seconds; simply breathing, touching. With some effort, she withdrew just enough to see his face. Lost in some distant dream, he didn't react at first. Then, raising his flesh hand, he lightly brushed his fingers over her cheek, with all the care of one afraid to damage the most delicate flower, and traced some imaginary line down to her chin. In that instant, she wanted nothing more than to give into temptation; to kiss him, to taste his lips and never look back. Instead, she tasted only the salt of her own tears as they flowed freely, and he shakily withdrew from their embrace completely. Never before had he looked so miserable, so visibly at war with himself. When he spoke, it was as if the voice belonged to someone else.

"Be careful, Padmé."

Her head swimming, Padmé didn't so much as stir until Anakin's landspeeder had vanished in the distance, and the thunderous rumble of engines roared to life behind her. She wiped the last of her tears away before joining the others.

He had made his decision.

* * *

><p><em><strong>CORUSCANT, Imperial City<strong>_

_**23:00 hours**_

The galaxy was changing. There was no more democracy, no more civility. Any hope for peace that had once existed was gone; for words like freedom, justice and equality no longer held any meaning in Palpatine's new regime. The Senate, along with the voice of the people, had been promptly and unlawfully silenced. It had only been seventy–nine days since the fall of the Republic, but already liberty had become a thing of the past… to speak of it meant a prison sentence, or possibly even worse. That was why she was running, now.

Throughout history, during times of turbulence and great desperation, leaders such as herself had always turned to the Jedi for help. Tragically, that was no longer an option. Both the government and the Jedi Order had been casualties of the self–appointed Emperor's rule. It made her sick how easily so many had bought into the propaganda, and believed them traitors. Palpatine's rise to power had cost countless lives, and sadly, it didn't seem that he was prepared to stop there. Numerous reports of armed soldiers roaming the streets and scouring the city for known conspirators had been flooding the holonet for the last several hours. Dozens of once prominent and highly influential political figures, as well as many important world ambassadors, had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Some had been openly arrested, while others had simply disappeared or fled the planet out of fear that they, too, would be targeted. The young woman from Pantora fell into the latter category.

As a respected dignitary, and an avid campaigner against tyranny and oppression, she was sure that her long track record of speaking out against dictatorships would catch up with her. Her name would no doubt be among those placed on the former Chancellor's list of undesirable citizens. For at least a time, he had humored those few still left in the Senate and pretended to heed their advice, but not since the demise of the Republic had any of them wielded any real power. But now, it seemed that he was no longer interested in keeping up appearances. Like so many of her colleagues, she was now a wanted enemy of the state.

"This way, Milady…"

Following in tow as her faithful bodyguard rushed through the deserted hangar bay toward their awaiting transport, Riyo Chuchi kept her eyes and ears open. "Where are the others? They should be here by now."

"I'm not sure, Milady," her trustworthy escort answered, never breaking his stride.

"It's not like them to be late," she stated with a deep frown. "I do hope nothing has happened."

"Perhaps they were merely delayed?" her companion speculated, not quite believing his own words, but doing his best to alleviate her concerns.

His feigned optimism and encouragement, though duly appreciated, did little to ease her troubled mind, and Riyo's frown only grew more somber. "Let us pray you are right."

Once they reached the transport, she hastened up its extended gangplank and quickly made her way inside while her guard remained in the threshold to stand watch. Wasting no time, she entered the cockpit and found a lone pilot prepping the ship for takeoff. Focused on the task at hand, he was oblivious to the senators arrival until she joined him at the controls and made her presence known.

"The others… have you heard from them?" she asked without preamble.

"You received an urgent transmission just a few minutes ago, Milady," the pilot replied. "Shall I play it back?"

Fearing whatever information the recording might possibly contain, Riyo couldn't mask the feeling of dread and foreboding that spread in her chest, and sent her heart racing. "Yes, show me."

There was a flicker of blue light as the slightly distorted image of Senator Bail Organa materialized in front of her. Much to her relief, the esteemed representative of Alderaan appeared to be, at least for the time being, safe and unharmed.

"Senator Chuchi, you must listen to me," he began, dispensing with any pleasantries and getting straight to the point. "By the time you get this message, Imperial authorities will likely have taken me into custody. My efforts to evade Palpatine's agents have failed, and I have yet to receive word from Mon Mothma. I'm afraid you are on your own. You must forget about us, and leave Coruscant before it is too late. The resistance needs you… more than you know."

Riyo couldn't believe what she was hearing. How could he even suggest such a thing? She would not, could not, simply abandon her allies to save her own life. Not when doing so almost certainly meant condemning them to death, or whatever alternative methods of interrogation the Emperor had adopted since destroying the Republic and usurping his throne. Somehow, with everything that was happening, she suspected he was not above torture.

"We leave the future in your capable hands, Riyo," the shimmering image of Senator Organa proceeded. "You have no choice but to carry on without us. Please hurry, we cannot afford to lose anyone else. The Jedi will be expecting you on–"

Quirking a brow, she turned to the pilot when the recording came to an abrupt end. "What happened?"

"The signal was jammed, but it would seem that you're in charge," he answered. "What are your instructions?"

"I…" she trailed off, struggling to find her voice.

"They're coming!"

Both Riyo and the pilot turned with a start when her bodyguard suddenly burst into the cockpit. "The local police! They've found us!"

"What?" was the best response she could muster. "H–how can that be?"

"With all due respect, Milady…" the pilot said, punching a button on the ship's controls and firing up its engines. "At the moment, the only how I'm worried about is how we're going to get out of here alive. It looks like they've just sealed off our only exit."

"Can you get it open?" her bodyguard questioned as he anxiously drew his sidearm. "They'll be here any second."

"I should be able to override the command manually," the pilot answered. "But it's going to take some time, and that's one thing we don't have. We'll never make it."

"You have to try," Riyo spoke up, her initial panic subsiding. "It's our only chance…"

"He's right, we'll never make it," her guard retorted. "We can't allow them to capture you, Milady. Your life is more valuable than either of ours. I'll create a diversion and hold them off while you make your escape."

"Absolutely not. Whatever happens, we will face it together," Riyo countered, immediately dismissing the very notion of leaving another behind to die in her stead. He had to be mad if he thought she would sacrifice him, or anybody else for that matter, because of something as trivial as their difference in status. "I refuse to run while you stand and fight. To me, your survival is no less–"

"I'm sorry, but I must insist," he interjected as he tightened his grip on his blaster and took a step back. "I have a family to think about. If the Rebellion doesn't succeed, there will be no stopping the Empire and my children will never have their freedom. I know that you'll do everything in your power to see that it doesn't come to that. It has been a great honor serving you, Milady…"

"No!" Riyo cried out, lunging forward to catch him before he could retreat into the ship's cargo hold. "Wait! You don't have to do this!"

Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough. With his pistol, he delivered one swift blow to the control panel mounted on the wall directly beside him. Just as he had anticipated, the console erupted in a shower of sparks and the cockpit doors slid shut with a hiss; granting him an opportunity to slip away as they locked and cut off her access.

"Here they come!" the pilot exclaimed, sparing a sideways glance through the ship's viewport.

Following his gaze, Riyo spotted their pursuers an instant later. A squad of stormtroopers, flanked by several of Coruscant's standardized police droids, took aim as they rapidly closed in on the transport. However, they halted their approach and scattered to find cover when her bodyguard emerged and caught them by surprise; gunning down the lead trooper while ducking behind a nearby stack of durasteel freight crates for protection. Soon, the sound of sporadic blaster fire was all she could hear.

"They're going to kill him!" she shouted, helplessly watching on as the ensuing skirmish unfolded before her eyes. "We have to do something!"

"He's made his decision, Milady," the pilot replied. Visibly on edge, he attempted to keep himself calm and collected despite the bleakness of their situation; feverishly working to get the bay exit open. "With your permission, I'll be departing while I still can."

Riyo lifted a horrified hand to her mouth when she witnessed her bodyguard's last moments of defiance, and he went down in a hail of blaster fire. Just then, their transport jolted and, within a matter of seconds, careened out of the hangar and into the hazy Coruscant skyline.

"We made it!" the pilot panted, his shoulders sagging in relief. "I can't believe it!"

Wringing her hands together to keep them for trembling, the rattled Pantoran half staggered to her seat and unceremoniously sank into it. Relief did not come so easy for her.

Dead. Her loyal protector, likely countless others; hunted like fugitives, without the decency and right to trial. And Senator Organa… she couldn't shake the feeling that his uncharacteristic lack of formality, coupled with the fact that he had addressed her by her given name and not by her title, seemed to imply that he was saying goodbye. His outspoken views and public criticism of Imperial law were sure to have attracted special scorn from Palpatine. She shuddered to think what fate would befall him should he find himself at the Emperor's mercy, or what trumped-up charges, if any, would be brought to him. Conspiracy? Espionage? High treason? Or would he just be there one minute and gone the next; never to been seen or heard from again? It was appalling as much as it was heartbreaking.

"Do we have our heading, Milady?"

Riyo didn't answer for a moment. However, when she did, she managed to keep herself, at least somewhat, composed.

"Yes," she said, doing her best to convey far more poise and confidence than she truly felt. "Set your coordinates for the Subterrel Sector."

_**To Be Continued…**_

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.<em>


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